


Consenting Adults

by mishaminion69, sydkn3e



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Belligerent Sexual Tension, Castiel/Dean Winchester UST, Dom/sub, M/M, Porn Star Castiel (Supernatural), Rough Sex, Sadistic Castiel (Supernatural), Sex out of scene, Sexual Tension, Therapist Dean Winchester, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Unresolved Sexual Tension, dom/sub dynamics, each has exactly what the other needs, it should be obvious we're not therapists but it bears repeating, no seriously there's so much it actually physically hurts, quite literal battles for dominance, the one in which Dean and Cas are directly one another's Trouble
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:01:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23805016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishaminion69/pseuds/mishaminion69, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sydkn3e/pseuds/sydkn3e
Summary: Career Dominant Castiel Novak is getting regular complaints from his scene partners about getting too rough, and it's starting to affect the flow of his work through AngelsandDemons.com. Due to urging from his brother and manager Gabriel, and a therapist recommendation from coworker and best friend Balthazar, Castiel reluctantly sets up his first appointment.Dr. Dean Winchester isn't your typical shrink- he isn't even your typical professional, in Castiel's opinion- but the man does seem to have some keen insight into the world of BDSM. Dean understands Castiel's need in a way he'd never thought possible from someone outside of the community, and he doesn't judge him for his disbelief in the societal bounds of monogamy. As the two of them work to get to the bottom of Castiel's problem, Castiel ultimately questions whether or not the adult entertainment industry is where he really wants to be...and not for nothing, but Dr. Winchester might be his perfect Submissive.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 235
Kudos: 374
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! Here's a new one we started a little over a month ago. Will likely be a bit slow posting as I have a lot of personal things going on right now, but we want you to know we're still here creating content. 
> 
> Thank you all for the comments on all of our other stories; I wish I had time to respond to all of them, but please know they're so appreciated. :)
> 
> LASTLY! Lauren and I will be participating in a fanfiction writers' panel through Nerds and Beyond's Festival and Beyond this Sunday! This is your chance to see us awkwardly talk a bit about our fanfiction experience, and you can even ask us questions! Here's the link if interested: https://www.facebook.com/groups/2863096030447951/  
> Festival and Beyond is a virtual convention that is free to "attend"! We hope to see you all on this weekend!

It’d been casually mentioned more than once after scenes. It wasn’t as if Cas was one to ignore constructive criticism, and being a Dom meant adhering to the rules and boundaries of his Subs. He dutifully stopped when his Subs safeworded, he provided exceptional aftercare. He knew how to make Subs scream and tremble beneath him and whatever onslaught he deemed fit, and he knew how to soothe their tired vocal cords and relax their sore muscles. He was highly rated on AngelsandDemons.com, and one of the more well-known Doms in the industry. 

And yet it didn’t keep Subs from complaining about one thing: his aggression.

Not pain exactly, no. Pain came with the territory. Subs were often turned on by the pain and Cas happened to love being the one to cause it. And not only that, but he truly enjoyed it, loved the feeling of being the one to inflict the pain that makes his partners scream and writhe. He could handle both men and women with ease, flipping and bending them to his will, fucking into every allowed orifice. He was in this to make others feel good, but his own real pleasure was derived from his art of making the pain  _ feel  _ like pleasure.

And regardless of the complaints, he remained booked for scenes, often by request of the Subs themselves. 

But here Gabe stood, Cas’s older brother and highly sought after director, telling him that he needed to see a shrink about his anger problem.

“I don’t  _ have _ an anger problem, Gabe,” Cas sighed, running a hand through his hair. He was on his second workout of the day- pretty standard for scene-heavy weeks- and Gabe was interrupting him  _ yet again _ , throwing him out of his headspace. 

“Yeah, well, your fucks might beg to differ,” Gabe snarked back.

“Beg, yes,” Cas deadpanned.

Gabe rolled his eyes. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“Look, all I’m sayin’ is, it can’t hurt. God knows we have shit from growing up that it wouldn’t kill ya to talk about, and...I mean, shit, man. At this point I pretty much have to ask you to. ‘Cause if you don’t, we might-  _ not saying we will _ \- but we  _ might _ have an issue with accountability, seein’ as this is something bad enough for them to be reporting.”

“They know what they signed up for,” Cas pointed out. “We have contracts in place for that sort of thing.”

“And you keep pushing those limits,” Gabe countered, crossing his arms over his chest. “Aaron left here last week with marks. ‘No lasting marks’ is in his contract. Now, he didn’t make a fuss, but it’s my job to notice these sorts of things. I’m not asking at this point, Castiel. You  _ have  _ to go, to save face.”

“So are you suggesting, or asking, or telling?”

“I am saying if you don’t seek therapy for your anger issues, I’m going to stop booking you. And I’ll tell all my pals to do the same.”

Cas paused with weights in his hands, narrowing his eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

Cas groaned and rolled his eyes, letting his head fall back dramatically. “ _ Fine.  _ Fine. I’ll go. But I’m not going to whatever quack philistine you deem passable as a doctor. I’ll find my own shrink.”

“Suit yourself, as long as you go,” Gabe shrugged then crossed his arms, trying desperately to look firm and serious. He mostly failed, but it was the closest Cas had seen him in a very long time. Which meant Gabe probably wasn’t kidding around on this one. 

“I’ll go, I promise.”

\---

“I’m not going.”

Balthazar sighed at his friend and watched as he stared intently down at his menu. Laughable and an obvious ploy to look busy since they had been going to this same restaurant for years and Cas always ordered the same thing.

“You’re getting the chicken parm,” Balthazar said, plucking the menu out of Castiel’s fingers and ignoring the withering glare he received. “And yes, my dear Cassie, you  _ are _ going.”

“You really can’t make me,” Cas pointed out and he suspected by the look on his friend’s face that he probably sounded like a child.

“I won’t need to,” Balthazar shrugged, his v-neck falling a little ways off his shoulder. “Because I know you are an intelligent human being who will see how fundamentally important your mental health is to your current career.”

“There is nothing wrong with my mental health,” Castiel murmured, taking a sip of his water. The slice of lemon sunk a little further into the ice as he set the glass down. 

“Oh dear,” Balthazar sighed again, resting his chin on his hand. “Now we both know that’s just not true.”

It was Cas’s turn to sigh as he rubbed at his eyes. Sometimes he really hated Balthazar’s accent. The British bastard sounded either bored or condescending, and it never helped when Cas was in a bad mood.

“C’mon, Balth, a shrink?” Cas mumbled, leaning back against the booth. “I just don’t think-”

“Cas,” Balthazar said gently, reaching out to lay a hand over Cas’s. A familiar touch that Castiel normally didn’t allow from anyone, but he’d known Balthazar for many years now. They’d even occasionally used to sleep together before they decided unanimously that it wasn’t worth risking their friendship. 

“I like to think I know you better than most,” Balthazar continued, “Certainly I know you intimately. And I’m afraid I’ve heard some of the same complaints.” He sighed and sat back, his hands falling into his lap. “I care about you, you know that. I wouldn’t push for this if I didn’t really think it would help. I also know that you take your role as Dom quite seriously, yes?”

Castiel nodded mutely, worrying his bottom lip.

“Then you must try,” Balthazar said, “for your own sake as well as your Subs’. You’re a sadistic bastard, but you’re a sadistic bastard who wants his Subs to enjoy themselves. Your aggression, whatever it may stem from, is eventually going to drive them away. And I’m afraid Gabriel is right, my friend. You’re pushing the line. This could get messy legally, if you don’t figure out where all the aggression is coming from and put an end to it.”

“I fail to see how my ‘aggression’ is anything out of the ordinary for a self-proclaimed sadistic Dom,” Cas argued, straightening and giving the waiter a smile and a nod as he approached their table. 

Balthazar gave him a hard glare from across the table before giving the waiter his own charming smile as he handed him the set of menus. “Hello, he’ll have the chicken parm and I’ll have the prosciutto and melon. Thank you.”

The waiter looked like he wanted to speak, but he pressed his lips together and nodded, taking the menus from Balthazar and returning to the kitchen. Cas stretched his arms out across the table, sliding them back again and drumming fingers impatiently on the tabletop. Balthazar paid him no mind, casually uncorking the red wine and pouring himself a glass. He’d long stopped offering to Cas; Cas had been sober all but the first year or so of their friendship. Ironically- or then again, maybe not so ironically- drinking tended to bring out the very worst in Cas. It wasn’t a version of himself he liked.

Cas liked to think that his steadfast sobriety was an advantage to his Domming capabilities. His mind was painstakingly clear at all times, his actions carefully planned, his scenes artfully designed. He wasn’t spending his spare time at play parties or mingling with coworkers at bars or getting too hungover to properly hold an erection on shoot day. When Cas wasn’t fucking he was preparing to fuck, spending hours upon hours in gyms for strength, running miles a day for stamina. He spent hours a week watching porn and masturbating, edging himself to the point of pain so he could continue to stick it to the best holes the business can offer him without blowing his load too early. He prepared his scenes like a teacher preparing to teach their next lesson, down to the tiniest details. And yes, when a Submissive took it upon themselves to act out and disrupt his carefully planned scene, he’d been known to get a little pissy about it.

Right up until the punishment part, anyway.

Balthazar took a sip of his wine and puckered his lips a little, one eyebrow popping up slightly as he swirled his glass. Cas rolled his eyes.

“The fact is, dear friend, your reputation as a good Dominant will be put in jeopardy if you insist on changing nothing. There are larger concerns at play here than you questioning whether their claims are unfounded or not.” 

“So you’re saying I’ll lose money if I don’t ‘change my behavior’,” Cas said bluntly, brandishing air quotes.

“I’m  _ saying  _ you’ll be ruined if you let the rumors fester,” Balthazar said, meeting his gaze as he sat the glass down, tapping a finger against the stem.

“I don’t even know how to go about finding the right therapist,” Castiel grumbled, running a hand through his dark hair and making the ends stick up. “Our way of life is a bit unorthodox. Who’s to say a therapist would even understand our world-”

“You think you’re the only sex worker who needs therapy?” Balthazar raised an eyebrow then chuckled at Cas’s baffled look. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card, sliding it across the table. “I took the liberty to do a little poking around after we spoke earlier on the phone. He’s supposed to be very good.” He tapped on the card.

Cas rolled his eyes but picked up the card. Balthazar seemed to know everyone who was worth knowing. He had ways to get things done, had the right connections. It was one of the benefits to being his close friend.

“He deals with sex workers?” Cas asked, glancing down at the card. Dr. Dean Winchester.

Balthazar shrugged. “Not exclusively, but let’s just say I know a few who have been to see him. They feel comfortable enough with him to speak about the work and, so I’ve heard, he passes no judgement on the subject.”

Castiel picked at the corner of the card before pocketing it. 

“Fine,” he practically growled, glowering at the other man. “I’ll try one session.  _ One.  _ If I don’t like him-”

“Then we shall have to look for another, won’t we?” Balthazar smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

The waiting room in Dr. Winchester’s office was nothing like Cas expected. Of course, he’d never actually  _ been  _ to therapy, but he imagined most therapists’ offices didn’t have singing fish mounted to the wall and  _ Busty Asian Beauties  _ on the top shelf of the magazine rack. Was that even legal? Cas would have almost been convinced to walk right back out if the authoritative, no-nonsense receptionist hadn’t noticed his entrance. She leaned forward in the window, her long brown hair flowing over her shoulders, her lips pursed and one eyebrow raised.

“First visit, sir?” she asked, tapping short nails on the counter.

“I- yes,” Cas sighed, approaching the window as he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket to brandish his ID and insurance card. He handed them both to the receptionist- who was quite pretty, he noticed now that he was within a couple of feet of her- and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Mr...Novak,” the woman- her name plate read Bela Talbot- said. “3:15 appointment?”

“Yes.”

“Mm,” Bela nodded and clicked her mouse a few times, typing intermittently. “Alright, here you go.” She handed him his cards back, and a clipboard full of paperwork. “You’re all checked in. Go ahead and have a seat, fill these out, and I’ll call you when he’s ready for you.”

Cas nodded and clicked his tongue, taking the clipboard to a nearby chair and having a seat. He began answering all the usual questions: name, date of birth, sex, family history, why are you here, blah blah blah. He paused at the last one, chewing his lip. What was he expected to say here, exactly? ‘I’ve been accused of fucking my Subs too hard’? ‘My coworkers are afraid of me’? Maybe ‘I need to learn how to stop being so turned on when my sexual partners scream beneath me’?

Cas ultimately just listed ‘sexual aggression’ and moved on. The rest would best be explained face to face, even if he dreaded it.

Occupation: sex worker. Sexual orientation: pansexual. Height: 6’0. Weight: 200 lbs. 

The rest of the paperwork took five more minutes or so, and he was called back within moments of turning it back into Bela.

“Right this way, Mr. Novak,” Bela said somewhat monotonously, holding the door open for him. He followed her down a short hallway lined with old family photos and antique vehicles, most notably a sleek black Impala. Cas’s first serious boyfriend as a teen- long before he’d stopped dating altogether- had a newer Impala, but the older models had always appealed more to him. He smirked despite the nagging feeling that while this was certainly abnormal for a typical therapist office, the eclectic decor was strangely endearing. 

She motioned him inside the door at the end of the hall to the left, Dr. Winchester’s  _ actual  _ office, a small room with bookshelves, a desk, a couple of soft chairs, and a small sofa. It was empty save for Cas now, and Bela gave him an obligatory smile as she pulled the door shut behind her, with the promise that Dr. Winchester would be with him soon. 

Cas chewed his lip as he stared at the door, then shoved his hands back in his pockets and began to explore the room. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t all the personal touches sprinkled throughout the room. Pictures interspersed the bookshelves of people Cas assumed were family and friends. Knickknacks were scattered as well, from a model of a black Impala to- interestingly- a porcelain cherub. Aside from all that, though, what gave Cas pause was the amount of small toys he saw. Toy cars, palm-sized balls, puzzles, games. Cas raised a brow, silently wondering if Dr. Winchester also saw children.

He turned when the door opened and blinked in surprise when a man in flannel ambled inside. Cas’s immediate thought was that he was immensely attractive- and not just therapist hot, but an  _ actual _ , model-meets-Paul Bunyan,  _ hot _ . He was a bit taller than Cas with bowed legs, a slim waist and broad chest and shoulders, short cropped hair, and eyes so green Cas would’ve seen them from across a stadium. He was also munching on what looked to be some sort of fried pastry, flaky crumbs spilling down onto his red and black flannel button-up and heather grey Henley. 

Cas frowned as the man shut the door with his foot, walking further into the room. He cleared his throat politely. “Excuse me,” he spoke, gaining the man’s attention. “I’m afraid there might be a mistake. I’m waiting on Dr. Winchester? Are you another client? I should be booked for this time-slot-”

The man smiled radiantly and Cas sucked in a breath. 

“No mistake,” the man said, carelessly wiping the pie crumbs off his shirt. “Castiel Novak?”

Cas nodded dumbly.

“Awesome,” the man stuck out his hand, “I’m Dr. Winchester. You can just call me Dean, though. The doctor thing makes me feel weird.”

Cas stared down at the hand, still a bit greasy from the treat, and blinked slowly. “I...I’m sorry.  _ You’re  _ my therapist?”

“Yep,” Dean beamed, dropping his hand and seeming to take no offense. “Sorry I’m a bit late. I always get the munchies around this time and the vending machine tried to jip me outta my pie.”

“Oh.”

Dean sucked crumbs off his thumb and forefinger as he rounded his desk, and Cas watched him uncertainly from several feet away. Dean smacked his lips- pink, shapely lips- as he flipped through a folder on his desk. His eyes roamed the pages and he occasionally gave a small nod, finishing off the last of his pie and brushing the crumbs off his desk. Cas grimaced.

“Alright, Castiel, you can go ahead and have a seat wherever you’d like and we can get started.”

Cas hesitated. “Like on the sofa?”

Dean looked up at him. “Sure.”

“Or should I...the chair?” He pointed at one of the cushy chairs between the sofa and desk.

Dean shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, if you want.”

Cas looked around at the various options of chairs, and something occurred to him.

“Is this one of your mind games?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Excuse me?”

“Is seeing which chair I pick part of how you make judgements about what kind of person I am so you can decide how to treat me?”

Dean stared at him for a few five seconds before a slow smile spread across his face- a boyish, cocky, charming smile. “You’ve never been to therapy before, have you?”

Cas shrugged. Dean shook his head and wiped his hands on his jeans, picking up the folder and making his way back toward Cas. He extended the folder to one of the two chairs.

“Why don’t you just sit here? Then I’ll sit in the other, and we’ll be on equal ground. How does that sound?”

Cas didn’t fully appreciate the condescending tone, but he eventually took his seat across from Dean, slowly raising his gaze to the man’s eyes.

“Now, Castiel...what brings you in today?” Dean slouched a little in his chair and crossed his ankles, the folder open between his hands, eyes dropping to scan Cas’s documents.

“My brother is insistent that I have anger issues that are affecting my work. My clients,” Cas clarified when Dean raised his gaze again.

“Your brother?”

“Yes. He’s my...manager, I guess you could say.”

Dean hummed. “And why does your brother think you have anger issues?”

“Apparently I’ve had clients complain to him.” Cas shrugged. “No one’s ever had complaints before, not to me, so-”

“What is it you do, Castiel?” Dean interrupted, closing the folder altogether, laying it on his stomach, his hands clasped over it. 

Cas gritted his teeth at the small disobedience. “Not that it isn’t listed right there in your folder, Doctor...but I’m a sex worker. A Dom.”

“I see. So this anger is confined specifically to your sexual activities?”

“Work...sexual activity. Same thing.”

“So then you’re not in a romantic relationship of any kind?”

“No.”

“Good,” Dean said, clearing his throat when Cas frowned at him. “I just mean, it’s good that the aggression is confined to your work activities, and not spilling over into a romantic relationship. It’s where we cross the line from healthy sexual encounters between consenting adults, to domestic abuse.”

Cas tipped his chin up in understanding.

Dean watched him for a moment, his pen tapping on the folder. “So you said your brother recommended therapy. Am I to understand that without his pushing, you wouldn’t be here?”

Castiel shrugged, throwing a leg over his knee and sitting up a bit straighter. Dean seemed to take notice of the change of position, but said nothing of it. “I suppose not. I think his concerns are a bit exaggerated.” 

“Care to explain that?”

Cas tapped a finger on his knee. “I just don’t think I have any anger or...aggression. Nothing to be concerned with anyway.”

“Hm,” Dean leaned back, sliding his pen between his fingers. Cas couldn’t help but notice how easily it glided between his grip. “So there is  _ some  _ agression?”

Cas sighed and tilted his head back, already feeling the stirrings of impatience. “Given the nature of my work, yes, some aggression is somewhat required.”

“To be a Dom.”

Cas bit at his lip. “To be a  _ sadist _ Dom. My clients come to me to feel pain. Or, more appropriately, to feel their pain turn to pleasure.”

Dean nodded in understanding and Cas found himself actually believing it. The doctor did seem to understand a little bit of his world after all.

“If you’re comfortable with it, walk me through what you do,” Dean said.

Castiel crinkled his eyebrows. “Is that strictly necessary?”

Dean shrugged, unconcerned. “If you don’t want to, I of course won’t force you. But it might help me get an understanding of your process. Sometimes when people talk about their jobs, even just explaining the mundane details, it can reveal their feelings on it. Without ever  _ saying _ one word about how they feel about it.”

Cas raised a brow. “How so?” he challenged. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to be stubborn about this. The doctor had been nothing but nice so far.

Dean just smiled. “Body language mostly. Tone of voice sometimes. How they explain their job. In as little detail as possible, or with some zest.”

“I don’t hate my job,” Castiel said almost immediately.

“Mm, no, I never thought you did,” Dean shrugged. “But it’s interesting that’s what you jumped to.”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “How much time do I have left?”

“Forty-five minutes.”

Cas groaned, his head falling back.

“Looks like you’ll either have to stall me for forty five minutes, or you can go ahead and answer my questions.  _ Or _ we can just sit here in silence. It’s your money, your time. Up to you.”

Cas straightened in his seat, glaring at Dean. Dean seemed unphased, flashing him a cocky smile, eyebrows raised.

“Fine.” Cas uncrossed his legs, clasping his hands together and leaning forward. “But you’ll have to be more specific. My process is different for each scene partner.”

“Let’s maybe start with what you do to prepare yourself for work.”

“Maybe watch some of the wording there, doctor,” Cas warned light-heartedly, but Dean’s mouth barely quirked in the corner. “Okay, well...obviously I only work a couple days a week, and I usually get to pick those days. Any days I’m not working I have two-a-days at the gym. On work days I...I don’t know...I guess I get up, have breakfast and go for a run, just a couple miles or so. I come back, shower, shave- unless a director specifically requests otherwise- clean and trim my nails. All the usual primping I imagine you’d do for a first date.”

“I see. Now your partners...do you choose who you work with, or are they assigned to you?”

Cas shrugged. “Depends. Sometimes I get to choose. If it’s a film assigned a director and given an actual budget of some sort, they’re chosen for me. There’s some kind of matching process they put us through, for sexual compatibility. Kinda like a dating app for...deviants.”

Dean snorted.

“The Subs all have their own individual contracts, drawn up when they first take the job and amended, if necessary, after each scene. As a career Dom, I just take those contracts and adjust my scenes to their specifications. We go over everything beforehand, and just...get into it.”

“Do you know any of these scene partners personally?”

Cas shrugged, for what felt like the millionth time. “Some of them, yeah.”

Dean nodded and jotted something down on his notepad, his eyes still glued to Cas’s. “Is it awkward for you? Either working with people you know or don’t know?”

“No.”  
“So you wouldn’t say you’re...emotionally connected to any of them?”

“I’m friends with some of them,” Cas said, tilting his head as one of Dean’s slender fingers slid slowly up and back down his pen. “But...I don’t know, I guess scenes feel more like acting than some emotional act. I’m a  _ career _ Dom, so...not one to keep Subs, myself. I don’t get attached. During scenes, they’re my Subs, and after, they’re whoever they were before that. Nothing changes.”

Dean hummed and jotted down another note, and Cas shifted uncomfortably. 

“What kinds of scene partners do you typically have?”

Cas thought about it. “I mean...all kinds. I don’t turn anyone down based on their sex or race or anything like that...only if I think they’re too vanilla for my brand of Dom.”

“Well, for the sake of this exercise, why don’t you walk me through what you’d do with a typical Sub? Let’s say...one who enjoys pain, but not to some of the more...harsher extents.”

Cas scraped his teeth over his bottom lip. “You always want to hear about your patients’ sex lives, doctor?”

“Only ones whose current issues are directly linked to it.”

Cas rolled his eyes and sat back in his seat, stretching his arms out on the armrests. “As I said, we consult the contract together. We refine boundaries. We set safewords. We usually do prep and lube off-camera beforehand, especially for shorts. Sometimes I help, sometimes I don’t. That’s usually the preference of the scene partner.” Cas took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Spanking is always popular, fisting, extreme edging, bondage, you know.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Mm-hmm, go on.”

“Like...this week, for example. I had a scene with a male partner who requested bondage and chastity.” Cas licked his lips, and Dean’s eyes followed. 

Huh.

“Chastity?” Dean asked, his voice just an octave lower. “I didn’t realize that was still a thing.”

Castiel nodded. “Well, not a common thing, but still there. I suppose some Doms like the feeling of confinement. Also some of them may feel if they wear a chastity, if their privates are not handled and the orifice unbreached, then the act ‘doesn’t count’.”

Dean tilted his head. “Doesn’t count for what?”

Cas flicked some lint off his pants. “Oh, could be a couple of things. Spiritually perhaps. I know some of my clients are in relationships. Maybe even married. Perhaps they think it won’t count as cheating.”

“Huh, interesting…” Dean murmured, his eyes seeming to unfocus for a moment.

“Is it?” Cas snorted.

“Yes, actually,” Dean chuckled, almost looking embarrassed. “Confession time? I’ve always found the BDSM lifestyle fascinating. Psychologically speaking. Well, sexual preferences in general are interesting. Why people like what they like. How does each individual mind shape such different desires?”

Castiel nodded slowly, eyes widening just a little. Truth be told, he’d always wondered the same thing, and the doctor earned a little respect for bringing it up.

“It sounds you like you think on the lines of psychology sometimes,” Dean continued, raising a brow.

“I’ve never thought of that way,” Cas shrugged, “but yes, I suppose I do. I sort of have to. To be a good- no-  _ the right _ Dom, I need to know what my client enjoys. And, in some respects, why they enjoy it. Why they  _ need _ it. For however long I have them, it’s my job to take care of them. To understand what it is they came to me for and satisfy that need.”

“So it’s a need, then,” Dean stated, writing something else down. Castiel desperately wanted to see his notes.

“For many, yes,” Cas nodded. “Oh, I know how general society sees us. Kinks and fetishes. Just weird people who like weird sex. And we get a few of those- the ones that sign up for shits and giggles- but they don’t last.”

“Why not?”

“Because they don’t understand what it’s really about,” Castiel scoffed and rolled his eyes. “They don’t understand the commitment. What I do isn’t a game. It’s not about kinky sex. To be a Sub, a real Sub, is to give yourself over completely to your Dom. All control, all freedom, temporarily given to your Dom. By every sense of the word. Within their personally set boundaries, of course.”

“Of course.” Dean furiously wrote again, while Cas tapped his fingertips together. “Now with this aggression...have you noticed a pattern? Does it tend to be with a certain sex, or-”

“If you’re implying that I could be sexist, or racist-”

“Not implying anything,” Dean cut in, holding his hands up, fingers twisted around the pen. “It just may help me narrow down where this anger is coming from.”

“I’m not angry.”

“Okay.”

_ “I’m not.” _

Dean nodded sincerely. Cas sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face.

“The complaints tend to be from men.”

Dean nodded as he wrote this time. It made Cas’s eye twitch, his skin crawling with that familiar discomfort of a lack of control, when he felt like someone else in the room may know more about him than he cared for them to. It was much too early in the session for that.

“But they’ve come from others, too?”

“Yes.”

Dean finished writing and slapped the pen down on his notebook, crossing an ankle over a knee. “Can you tell me about a few of the complaints? Specifically?”

Cas licked his lips again, and didn’t miss the way Dean’s eyes followed again, flitting back up when Cas started speaking.

“I left marks on a kid whose contract specified otherwise. That one was recent.” He shifted in his seat. “Um...there was one time my partner had to take a mandated week off of the job, for, um...recovery time. They started to strongly recommend newcomers against me. Only a few get through anymore.” Cas frowned. “I tend to get power bottoms, and those take a bit more discipline than a young twink. I  _ have  _ to put in the extra effort.”

“Are you unsatisfied with your assignments?” Dean asked, gaze unwavering, unreadable.

“No,” Cas said without hesitation. “Lack of variety just gets old sometimes.”

Dean hummed, tapping his pen obnoxiously on his notebook. “Do you ever intentionally break contracts? Maybe push a known boundary or ignore a safe word-”

“ _ Never _ ,” Cas growled, watching Dean react to his instinctive bristling. His eyes widened slightly and his lips parted, but he was  _ listening _ , intently taking in Cas’s every word. “Pushed boundaries, sure...that’s what I’m supposed to do. But I’ve  _ never _ failed to respond to a safe word. I just...I like seeing what their bodies can take. How far I can push them.” It probably came out way easier than it should’ve, but Cas didn’t care. Dean’s reaction was fascinating enough to make his honesty worth it. 

Dean shifted in his chest and Cas noticed his grip on the clipboard tighten briefly. 

“You, uh,” Dean spoke, clearing his throat, “mentioned before being a sadist. Please excuse my ignorance if I’m wrong, but that means you enjoy causing pain?”

“That’s an extremely simplified way to put it, but yes,” Castiel murmured. “Though I should point out there is a big difference between a sadist Dom and a plain sadist. The kind most people think of when they hear the word.”

“Oh?”

“Mm,” Cas nodded, clasping his hands together. “When most people hear the word sadist, they picture a person who derives pleasure from pain- true pain- and the misery of others. A sadist Dom doesn’t take any pleasure from that sort of thing. I...turn pain into pleasure, so to speak. I enjoy making my Sub come apart, yes, but with ecstasy. Pain and pleasure, love and hate, these are fine lines. I tread that line, bring them to the brink, make their own body confused about what they are feeling. All with consent, of course.”

“Right…” Dean murmured, shifting again. Cas bit back a smirk. The man’s face was flushed now. His lips slightly parted.

“Most of my clients see me specifically for this need,” Cas continued, watching Dean carefully. “It’s not just a kink for them. It’s a release. As if...they’ve been holding their breath for too long and they can finally let it out. Like they live walking on eggshells, and experiencing this pain lets them relax. True masochists. Ones who experience this phenomenon of pain becoming pleasure. If performed correctly.”

“Correctly?”

Cas shrugged. “True masochists don’t get turned on by stubbed toes or banging their elbows. It’s not that kind of pain. It must happen in the right place, the right time, the right setting. It also comes from the act of being a Sub. The context matters when it comes to pain. The intention behind it.”

“I see.” Dean shifted in his seat, but when he spoke again, he seemed a bit more composed. “So you enjoy inflicting pain, so long as it induces pleasure.”

“Correct.”

“Why, then, do you think you’re having complaints about the aggression? Am I to assume the complaints are due to the pain inflicted?”

“I...guess?” Cas said. “They’re there to be controlled. They’re there for pain. They’re aware of my reputation- they come to me to be humiliated, degraded, and yes, hurt. I can’t imagine many Subs that would complain about something as simple as being called a cumslut or having their cock locked in chastity.”

“And you don’t think it’s maybe possible you’ve been...too rough?”

“Guess it’s always possible,” Cas mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair once more. 

“Why, then?”

“Well that’s kinda what we’re here to find out, isn’t it?”

Dean chuckled as he wrote down a few more notes. “Yeah, well...we’ll get to the bottom of it. Tell you what...for the next week, I want you to keep a sex journal. Use as much detail as possible. We’ll discuss it in your next session. Gotta find out why you’re so angry in order to find out why these partners of yours are leaving with unsatisfactory experiences.” 

Cas scoffed. “Doctor, I’m in the business of making people who hate themselves feel _better_.”

“What a coincidence,” Dean smiled. “So am I.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry we're slow posting...you'd think with the virus I'd have loads of spare time for writing and editing but my depression brain is complicating things a bit. I hope this holds you over, however briefly, and I'll work on getting you a new chapter of Teens!

“So you gonna go back?”

Castiel huffed softly to himself, eyes on the full-length mirror in front of him as one of the primpers messed with his hair. The fluffer was down below, of course, making sure his cock was camera ready.

“Why are you still here?” Cas sighed. “Shouldn’t you be on set?”

“I don’t like to micro-manage.”

Gabriel was possibly the laziest director in the business. He also made the highest-rated porn to date.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Cas finally answered.

“ _ Aaaand _ why not?”

“Because I’m not entirely convinced it was helpful.”

Gabriel hummed in that really annoying way that told Cas he wasn’t buying a bit of the bullshit he was selling.

“You can’t really tell that after one session, though,” he pointed out. 

Castiel gritted his teeth. He was right...which was also really annoying.

“Perhaps we should focus more on the scene today,” he said bitingly. “You’re going to disturb my headspace.”

Gabriel made a face, but he knew Cas was right. His headspace was important. If anything broke his concentration, the entire scene could be ruined. Once the primpers deemed him ready, Cas disrobed and headed to the set. Today was one of his heavy-hitters, a deep masochist who particularly enjoyed candle wax and strangulation. The latter was always more of a risk and required extra consent from the Sub, including signing a waiver in the event that a mistake was made and the Sub was seriously hurt. Or, God forbid, died. 

Cas didn’t make mistakes like that, but it made Gabriel breathe a little easier.

The set was conducive to the planned scene. Gothic, dimly lit, with plenty of candles lit. Dark velvet drapes, items of torture strewn about like a dungeon, downright scary furniture filling the space. Cameras were in place, his Sub was waiting obediently, and Castiel pushed aside all thoughts of Dr. Dean Winchester.

Time to work.

\----

“And this was Monday, you said?”

“Yes.”

Dr. Winchester sat back in his chair, his cheeks puffing out with his exhale. “Hell of a way to start a work week.”

“Indeed.” Cas quirked a smile. “I suppose you want specifics?”

Dean pressed his lips together in a tight smile and held his hands out briefly. “It  _ is  _ part of my job.”

Cas took a breath. “Well…” he let it out slowly, thinking. “There were no complaints, so there’s that. But I think my brother may have intentionally set me up with this one...he had practically no hard limits.”

Dean said nothing for a while, allowing them to sit in silence. Then:

“Go on.”

“Started with the usual,” Cas mused. “Edging. Dirty talk, you know. Slut, whore. Boy pussy, the twinks always like that one.”

Dean remained unnaturally still. 

“So after so much time teasing him, I bound him face up on the bed. Tightly. He wanted marks.” 

This part was nice- the reminiscing. He just got lucky to be able to share a good fuck recount with his therapist...his insanely  _ hot _ therapist...because of the sex diary. Cas’s own notebook sat unopened in his lap, one hand laying possessively on top. There were much darker thoughts in there than he dared to say aloud.

It wasn’t difficult to suppress a boner talking about stuff like this at this point- he’d been long used to the kind of language that would make the normal person blush. Dirty talk didn’t do as much for Cas as the screams of his partners. And Monday’s Sub- boy, did he  _ scream. _

“We played with hot candle wax...which uh...not much more to tell there. I contrasted the burn by dragging a soft flagger across his sensitive skin. Each time I passed over with the wax, he got harder. He knew I wouldn’t fuck him until he was hard.”

Dean looked down at his notepad as he wrote. Cas waited, but he kept writing, so Cas kept talking.

“The finale was strangulation,” Cas said, actively controlling his amusement when Dean’s head snapped up. To his credit, he’d carefully kept his expression neutral. “There aren’t many risky enough to try it, but this guy...god. Had I listened to him, he’d be dead right now.”

Dean swallowed and Cas’s eyes tracked the movement of his Adam’s apple.

“Why is that?”

“Well, because I was strangling him within an inch of his life and he was signaling for me to do it harder. I already had him speared on my cock, my hands around his throat, squeezing, by the end of it, to my limit. And he’s tapping my thigh: harder, harder, harder. But I knew better than him. I stopped.”

“That’s...good,” Dean said slowly, nodding his head. He cleared his throat and uncrossed his legs, crossing the opposite one this time. “Would you say the scene was successful? And were you satisfied by this performance?”

“Well, the boy came on my cock alone, his face as red as that shirt you’re wearing, so I guess he got what he came for.” Cas smiled at the memory, worrying his bottom lip. “And yes, that kind of thing is exactly what I dream of.”

“Mmhm,” Dean hummed. He seemed almost distracted, rubbing a finger across his lip. “But were you  _ satisfied _ ?”

Cas frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Dean shrugged, his foot bouncing slightly. “I dunno. Sometimes what we dream of is never what we want in reality. Or maybe not enough.”

“Not enough…” Cas repeated slowly, frown deepening. “I assure you the torture I inflicted upon him was nothing short of a masterpiece. His reactions were beautiful.”

“Maybe it’s not the pain that isn’t enough.”

Cas blinked, looking thoughtful. “Perhaps my partner then? You think my aggression comes from not being satisfied with my Sub?”

Dean smiled and shrugged, tapping his pen. “Oh, it’s just a theory. It’s way too soon to really know, of course. Pure conjecture.”

“Ah…”

Dean’s lips quirked into a smile. “You seem disappointed.”

Cas snorted and ran a hand through his hair, glancing out the window. It was a cloudy day, threatening rain at any moment. “I suppose I’m just...ready to solve this and be done.”

“Solve?” Dean blinked then laughed softly. “Mr. Novak-”

“Castiel, please,” Cas interrupted, waving his hand. 

“Castiel,” Dean dipped his head, “I’m sorry to say this, but you’re not a math problem. Therapy isn’t really for  _ solving  _ people. Or for fixing them. It’s more about...learning. Learning about you, really. What makes you tick, how you work, discovering the issues that might arise from the ‘how’s and ‘why’s, and learning how to cope with those. Humans are complex and so is therapy. A few sessions don’t do much good. If you came here looking for a quick fix, you’re going to be very disappointed.”

Cas leaned back in his chair, frowning deeply. “How long do you think we will be doing this then?”

Dean tilted his head and smiled gently. “That’s impossible to say and, ultimately, depends on you. Some of my clients I have been seeing for years. Some I saw only once. Some, a few months. There’s no formula to it. We will be here as long as it’s needed, but really it’s your choice. I can’t force you to come.”

_ But I can force you,  _ Cas thought before he could stop himself.

“So, I’ll ask again...” Dean continued, fiddling that damn pen between his distracting fingers, “were you satisfied?”

Cas opened his mouth and closed it again, looking away from Dean’s interested gaze to really focus on his answer. He’d spoken true: the scene was a dream, his partner was his favorite brand of masochist- the kind with a death wish- and their finished product had been masterful. His Sub responded perfectly to each and every assault, and yet…

“No,” Cas found himself saying, and in that moment he knew that it was true. 

“Any idea why that might be?”

Cas finally looked at him again, and shook his head.

Dean clicked his tongue, tapping the pen furiously against his notebook. “Okay. What would it take, do you think? For you to be satisfied?”

“That’s just a different way of asking the same question,” Cas shot back.

“Admittedly.”

“You want to apply for the job?” Cas sniped, in hopes of a telling reaction. He was disappointed when Dean merely smiled, dropping his gaze to his notes as he scribbled more.

“I don’t know, okay?” Cas said softly, after a moment. “It’s like...a drug. I keep pushing and pushing my limits, pushing and pushing theirs, and eventually it’s not enough and I need more, and more, and  _ more _ ...and in the end I’m never satisfied. And I don’t... _ know  _ why.”

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Dean asked, and Cas snorted loudly, like they hadn’t been spending the past half hour talking about the guy Castiel choked during sex the week before. 

“Does regular sex-  _ vanilla sex-  _ does it excite you anymore?”

Cas tilted his head. “You mean physically, or-?”

Dean waved a hand back and forth. “Physically, emotionally.”

Cas considered it. “Well...no. No, it doesn’t.”

“So you’re unable to achieve or maintain an erection unless you’re physically causing someone pain?”

“I can...if I need to,” Cas ground out, rubbing two fingers together anxiously. “But it’s not preferred, no.”

“So your arousal is directly related to your need to cause pain…” Dean mused, seemingly to himself.

“That makes me sound deranged, doctor,” Cas shifted, unsettled by the bluntness of the statement. As true as it was.

“Does it?” Dean blinked. “Do you believe that’s deranged? To become aroused by causing pain?”

“Well...isn’t it?” Cas almost stumbled over his words, his mind stuttering. He tensed and he knew Dean saw him do so, damn him, and was probably making all sorts of deductions from it. This was why Cas hated the idea of therapy. Every word, every action, every nuance was recorded and over-analyzed. 

“You’re uncomfortable,” Dean stated, suddenly looking immensely interested.

“No.”

“Mm,” Dean stood, setting his clipboard on his desk. “Body language can tell a lot, Castiel. You’re visibly tense, so much so I can see you clenching your jaw. Your hands are balled up in your lap. Your foot is tapping against the floor. All of this occurred just seconds ago, whereas before you seemed mostly at ease.”

Cas gritted his teeth and forced his foot to stay still. “Anyone would become uncomfortable after their therapist implied they were deranged.”

“But I didn’t,” Dean shrugged, leaning on the back of his desk chair, smiling. “You did.”

Cas glared at him.

“And it’s pissing you off even more that I can see all of this,” Dean continued, his tone conversational, his stance relaxed. “Or, maybe more accurately, that you’ve allowed me to see all of this. You stumbled into a situation, a line of questioning, that you couldn’t control. As a Dom, I imagine you have a deep need to be in control. I imagine that’s why you don’t like me too much, hm? I’m not your Sub. I have no reason to obey you.”

“I can give you a reason,” Castiel growled through his teeth.

Dean’s eyes darkened briefly and he shifted on his feet. “What I’m more interested in,” he continued, “is why that question has you ready to bolt. You’ve been in this work a while. You’re a professional. You like what you do. You don’t intentionally harm your Subs outside of their consent. So why jump to the conclusion- by your own making- that you are deranged, after I clarified a fact that you, yourself, admitted to?”

Cas huffed. “How much time?”

“Twenty minutes,” Dean answered automatically. “Now, have you been told you’re deranged? Have you been led to believe this or is it something you developed on your own?”

Cas rolled his eyes, hearing Dean chuckle softly across the room.

“I don’t know,” Cas said finally, refusing to look at Dean. 

“Do you really mean you don’t know, or that you’re just not going to tell me?”

Cas fixed him with a cold gaze. 

Dean clicked his tongue and pushed away from his chair, rubbing his hands together slowly, his head down in thought. “Let’s double back, Castiel. Now instead of explaining the scene to me, I want you to explain how you felt. Imagine the different components and how they affected you. How did you feel when you entered the room? Use the senses...do you remember how the room smelled? How your partner sounded? How they felt?”

“I remember everything,” Cas said bluntly.

“Good,” Dean smiled at him encouragingly as he sat across from him. “Now close your eyes, and I want you to walk me through all of it. Take me on the journey  _ with  _ you. From the second you opened that door.”

Cas wanted to hold on to his current anger toward the therapist, but Dean’s excitement propelled him. Maybe they’d get to the bottom of this, after all. Then Cas could get the hell out of there and never come back, ever, and live his life just as free and unaccountable as before.

He sighed, and closed his eyes. 

“It...smells like fresh leather. It’s dimly lit, just a couple of industrial lights. The director’s on set with the camera guy, the Sub is already prepared, waiting for me. A couple of last-minute touch-ups from hair/makeup and they send out the fluffer, director calls ‘action’-”

“Slower,” Dean urged quietly; Cas huffed. “How are you feelin’ at that point?”

“Excited,” Cas said, feeling the familiar rushing clench in his chest at the memory. “Just this...surge of adrenaline, seeing a Sub waiting for you. Makes you feel...powerful.”

“Go on.”

“Once I enter, the scene essentially begins,” Cas continued, eyes still closed, the memory coming into sharp focus. “The camera starts recording, but I will ignore it until I deem the scene finished. I focus on my Sub. He’s kneeling, head bowed, ready. Close up he smells like soap, body wash. I check in on his mental state, to be sure he’s ready for this. I go over our safety words.”

“And how does he seem to you?” Dean asked softly, voice slightly husky. 

“Eager,” Castiel answered immediately, licking his lips. “More than ready. He’s been waiting a while. Our scenes are few and far between, because of how intense they get. I leave marks on him; he likes that.”

“Keep going.”

“I start off slow,” Cas murmured. “I order him into the presentation position. Put him in his place, assert myself. I...need to establish our roles. Need to make sure he knows who is in control. Presentation position is humiliating. It exposes him completely, but he obeys. I feel…”

“Yes?” Dean prompted, voice even lower. Castiel took note of this, his interest piqued.

“Untouchable,” Cas sighed wistfully. “It’s thrilling to have control over another. To know he will do anything I tell him to, because it pleases me. That’s the markings of a good Sub; the endless need to please.”

There was a beat of silence. “What did you do next?”

“I...started edging him. Left him there, in presentation...jerked his cock, fingered his little ass…” Cas was intentionally searching for a reaction at this point, interested in seeing just how far he could push his therapist into unprofessionalism. “It sounded...wet. There was so much lube. And he never stopped making noise, little sounds every time I touched him. I like that- like when they’re vocal. They always scream the loudest.”

When Dean didn’t respond, Cas continued. 

“I tied him next. The tying itself is tedious, but even I admit that the end result is gorgeous, if the time is taken to do it the right way. Kinbaku scenes always pay well-”

“Why don’t we stay on track?”

Cas gave an annoyed huff. “The wax was after that. He was mostly quiet for that, so I could really focus on hitting all of the most sensitive areas. He made these little whimpering sounds, pulled on the ropes...I remember thinking it was like...art.”

“Art?”

“Yeah. It sounds crazy, but...I’m a bit of a perfectionist, and I take my craft very seriously. I pride myself in being a good Dom and a good sexual partner, and I always aim to be the very best. Always. So...certain scenes, yeah. They feel like creating art. You’re watching your vision come to life in front of you, you see your idea take apart the person under you. It’s invigorating.”

“Did you remain aroused during this time?”

Cas was a little disappointed to hear how composed Dean’s voice was, and his eyes popped open. Moss green eyes were staring back at him.

“Um...yes? Or maybe, no...or...I- I’m not sure.”

Dean narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. “You can’t remember?”

Cas chewed his lip, wracking his brain. “No.”

Dean nodded and gestured for him to continue.

Cas cleared his throat and closed his eyes again, taking a moment to get back into the memory. “When we were done, I untied him. That’s always for the best when strangulation is requested, so they can let me know if they need me to stop.”

“Naturally.”

“So we just...started fucking. Me on top, driving into him. His cock was still hard, red and swollen- honestly looked a little painful. I love seeing it, though. Means he’s desperate to come. He screamed at first, because he didn’t want it easy. He never does. But after he adjusted I started choking, and I just...it felt like it would be so easy, to accidentally hurt him. And it’s not like...I wasn’t  _ fantasizing  _ about killing him, no...it’s like...I just realize in these moments, when I’ve got someone in a position where they’re fully reliant on me, their life quite literally in my hands, at times...how fragile life is. And being the one to be holding it in your hands...it’s the most dominant you can ever feel.”

“And the anger...where does that start?”

Castiel sighed and gave it a hard thought. He really did  _ try _ to find when this supposed aggression began. He mentally backtracked, replayed the scene, tried to examine his feelings within each moment. But it was like fumbling around in the dark, knowing what you’re looking for is there but your hands keep passing over it. Finally Cas sighed again and opened his eyes, shaking his head.

“I...I don’t know,” he muttered honestly, rubbing at his eyes. “I just can never recall feeling anger or...aggression in any of my scenes.”

Dean hummed thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “But you never black out? You remember every second of the scene?”

Cas nodded. “Yes, undoubtedly. I sometimes watch after we’re done filming, to review my performance. There’s never been an instance on camera that I can’t remember doing.”

Dean rubbed at his chin then leaned over, writing something else down on his clipboard. Cas found himself again wishing he could see the notes.

“We’re out of time, Castiel,” Dean said as he straightened. “Keep up with the sex journal. I realize this seems like a slow process, but I think we’re getting somewhere. Sometimes the mind just takes a while to reveal its secrets.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Please tell me you haven’t been spending all your spare time with your brother,” Naomi said on the other end of the line. “He’s terribly distracting. Impossible to get anything done with him around, always talking all that trash-”

“Mother, I didn’t call to discuss Gabriel.”

“Well then, how is work?” 

“Fine,” Cas lied easily, immediately going into the spiel he’d rehearsed in his head earlier, until she’d undoubtedly turn the conversation back to Gabriel. “Still working on a private project, so I can’t really expound on the details, but it’s going well. Put in over 60 hours last week.”

“I take that to mean you’ll be too busy to visit for the holiday?”

“We’ll see, but with the way things are now, yeah, I’d imagine so.” Cas hoped he at least  _ sounded _ disappointed. 

“Suppose that means your father and I will be vacationing this year for Christmas,” Naomi said.

“Sorry.”

Cas walked over to the window of his bedroom. He laid his head across the arm he pressed to the cool glass, looking out over the city. While DC wasn’t the prettiest city to look at- and certainly didn’t have the best reputation- he’d been living here for the better part of his adult life and loved all the city had to offer. Not to mention, the BDSM scene was surprisingly fruitful.

“So have you actually seen your brother, or have you only just heard from him?”

“Haven’t seen him, mother. Why does it matter?”

“Well, I’m only asking.”

“Right, but you don’t really care. You don’t want to see him.”

“I mourn for my son, Castiel, you know that. For him to become caught up in that blasphemous, vile,  _ degrading  _ lifestyle-”

“I’m pretty sure it was his choice.”

“And that’s worse!” Naomi insisted. “He’s chosen to renounce everything he grew up learning from your father and I, and we now have to live with the knowledge that he’s out there sinning under our name. We have to live knowing he’s bound for Hell-”

“Oh, mother,” Cas groaned, pushing himself off the window to cross the room. “That’s it. Change the subject, or I’m hanging up.”

“Fine,” Naomi said shortly. He could imagine her expression, tight lips forming a stern frown, her cold grey eyes glaring at the wall. “Are you seeing anyone?”

Cas sighed and fell onto his bed, exhaustion seeping right down into his bones. It always went this way when he spoke with his mother. Most of the time was spent dodging her probing questions, listening to her rant about his brother and current politics, all the while keeping the personal details of his life under lock and key.

“You know I’m not,” Cas mumbled, rolling onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. “I don’t know why you feel the need to ask me that every time you speak to me.”

“Is it so awful that I want you to settle down?” Naomi asked, false hurt creeping into her plastic voice. “I worry about you. Living in that city by yourself. No wife to take care of you, no children to speak of. I  _ know _ you don’t attend church, may God forgive you. You’re in your 40s, Castiel, and it’s time you behave your age. Marry, have children, be fruitful as the Lord demands. It’s not decent to still be a bachelor and living in such a horrid city-”

“Mother.”

“-they’ve legalized  _ marijuana  _ you know-”

“Mother,” Cas said more firmly, an arm thrown over his forehead. He could feel an awful headache coming on. “You must stop watching Fox News. And, more importantly, how I run my personal life is my own business. I’m perfectly content with my life and the city is good for work. The art scene is lively here. Graphic design jobs practically pour in every day.”

“Speaking of which,” Naomi said, “I was wondering if you could lend some of your skills.”

“Oh?” Cas frowned, but was happy his mother latched onto the change of subject.

“The church is needing to update their website,” she continued. “It’s quite old. I don’t think it’s been touched since it first published, sometime in the early 90s. The old pastor put it together.”

Cas chuckled. “I’m guessing he didn’t have much in the way of digital design and concept.”

“No,” Naomi chuckled along with him and Cas felt his chest loosen. “The board has been looking for someone to take on the job, but our budget is so tight and-”

“I’ll do it,” Cas said. “Have them email me the details. Family discount.”

“You don’t have to take it,” Naomi rushed to say, her tone suggesting that really, he kind of did. “But I showed them your work- that gorgeous piece you did for that local bookshop-”

“Fabled.”

“Yes,” Naomi gushed and Cas couldn’t help but smile. “Well, your talent speaks for itself. But again, if you’re too busy-”

“I’ll move some things around,” Cas said, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. “Just send me the details. And- thank you, mother. For recommending me.”

“Of course, dear. Would you like to speak to your father?”

“No, I, uh...I’m sure he’s busy-”

“Well, he’s working on Sunday’s sermon but I’m sure he can-”

“No no,” Cas said quickly. “It’s alright, mom. I’ll just give you guys a call in a couple of days, talk to him then.”

“Very well,” Naomi sighed. “If you speak to Gabriel, tell him we’re praying for him.”

“Yeah,” Cas mumbled, “love you. Bye, mom.”

He hung up before Naomi could respond, pinching the bridge of his nose. Gabriel was, by far, the black sheep of the family. Cas wasn’t much better, but their parents didn’t know that. Gabriel was unapologetic in his ‘alternative lifestyle’, and when he’d left the Novak household, he’d proudly announced it was to pursue a career in the adult entertainment industry. Naomi had fainted-  _ actually  _ fainted- and Chuck demanded he leave, to which Gabriel had swiftly replied: “Gladly, Daddy-O!” and tore deep tracks in the yard with his used BMW as he drove away. Cas received secret letters and packages from him every so often for the two more years he lived at home, often complete with some of his first films, some novelty toys that Cas was pretty sure were intended to be a joke, and photos that regularly included busty models with fake tans and thin waists. Gabriel seemed happy, and that made Cas happy, and so when it was time for Cas to leave for college, he intentionally chose a graphic design school near Gabriel’s operation in D.C.- The George Washington University.

Neither Naomi nor Chuck Novak knew Gabriel’s whereabouts, and hadn’t for years, their anger still raw enough that even talk of him was limited in their household. And so their giddy approval of Cas’s college of choice was genuine, and they happily shelled out a generous portion of his $56,000 tuition. If they’d ever found out about his proximity to and contact with Gabriel at the time, Cas would’ve been packing his bags and moving out when the following semester rolled around.

But as it were, they managed to keep it a secret, and now they were both in their early forties, with the best relationship they could hope to have with their parents, given their past. Gabriel checked in with them once every couple of months, but usually was subjected to Naomi’s chastising and Chuck’s criticizing, and so Cas knew how much of a chore it felt like to him. Cas got enough criticism of his own to know better than to tell them about his main career, and he was lucky he had his graphic design degree to fall back on. It was an easy way to convince his parents he was keeping his nose clean, and thus avoiding the inevitable preaching he’d receive from both of his parents if they knew- if they even decided to continue speaking with them. It’d taken years for them to come back around to Gabriel, and even longer for him to accept it.

Castiel thought about going “legit” more than once, just for the sake of making his life somewhat easier. But the thought always left a bitter taste in his mouth, knowing it would mean letting his parents win somehow. He loved them, he did, but he refused to let them dictate his life. He learned long ago that denying this part of himself never worked and only led to extreme depression.

He tossed his phone onto the bed and began to undress. As he turned, he glanced at the plain journal sitting on his nightstand. Cas had pointedly left out the newest detail of his life. Telling Naomi he was seeing a therapist would have led to a line of questions he wasn’t prepared to answer, not to mention his mother didn’t put much stock into the profession. She was under the firm belief that as long as you prayed and “gave it to God”, everything would be fine. Cas didn’t have the energy to explain that having faith was fine, but life was vastly more complicated than that.

Not to mention he wasn’t sure how he felt about the subject. He kept telling himself he wasn’t going back, but he could never bring himself to cancel. Dean was unorthodox as far as therapists go, but Cas strangely enough enjoyed their conversations in some bizarre way. Also, the man was gorgeous and nice to look at for an hour. His reactions to Castiel’s talk about his work were interesting as well and added some amusement to the whole affair.

He supposed for now he could stick to it and see what happened.

\------------

Research. That’s all it was.

At least, that’s what Dean kept telling himself. It was mostly true; he often researched things about his patients in order to better understand them and their mindset so he could formulate the best care plan for them. 

He wouldn’t say he dealt with sex workers often, either, but he had a way with his patients, and that word happened to make its way to an eccentric Brit named Balthazar, who Cas had listed as the one who’d referred him. 

That’s how he’d found himself on angelsanddemons.com, searching for videos of his career Dom patient, with not even the first clue how to find him in a sea of genitalia. In the end he went with what he knew, and typed “strangulation” in the search bar.

Thousands of videos popped up, and he passed his mouse over each video thumbnail to allow it to cycle through a few frames.

Dean clicked the ‘filters’ button and selected ‘gay’, then ‘sort by most recent’. The reordered videos started popping up again and he began to scroll, stopping every so often to watch a couple of seconds of videos containing tall, tan, dark-haired men. 

Monday- that was the 15th. Dean scrolled to the date and was almost immediately drawn to a high definition video with a dungeon-esque setting. Nothing was visible other than the Sub within the first couple of frames, and yet Dean knew he’d found the right one. His heart pounded so hard in his chest he could feel it in his ears as he clicked on the thumbnail.

The video was titled with a generic porn video name- ‘Vocal daddy strangles and breeds boy’- and just that was enough to stir Dean’s cock to life. Researching with a boner would make things more difficult, but not impossible. He was a professional, after all, and Castiel was just another patient.

A sadistic, intriguing, and charming one, but a regular patient, nonetheless. 

A sex worker with an anger problem presented a very unique and pressing issue though, in all seriousness. The bedroom was the last place you wanted to feel legitimate anger, to the point that sex partners unprivy to your personality were pointing it out. Castiel had no real connection to most of his sexual partners and therefore no reason to feel angry towards any of them, which led Dean to believe that the aggression came from the act himself and not a specific person he was with.

However, he’d noted that Castiel’s complaints tended to come from his male partners, and those were the scenes he tended to focus on in their sessions. Of course, that could be mostly for Dean’s benefit- it wasn’t as if he hadn’t noticed Castiel intentionally trying to get a reaction from him- but in his professional opinion, there was a definitive trend. Getting to the bottom of the aggression, though; that was the trick. Figure out the source, formulate a plan to treat it.

Dean clicked on the video and waited, watching as the skinny blonde kid- couldn’t have been older than 24 or 25- rested on his knees on a dimly-lit stone floor, lightly tracing his cock as he waited. There was close to a minute of just this: the boy touching himself, moaning, shifting to pull skin taut over muscles. Teasing himself and his audience.

When the door opened and closed off screen, Dean shivered and froze in time with the boy (Castiel had referred to him as simply ‘Alfie’), and held his breath while he waited for Castiel to come into view.

He heard him before he saw him, however, when a stern “Have you been touching yourself without my permission?” boomed from behind the camera. Dean’s breath caught in his throat.

Alfie froze, his shoulders tensing, but Dean could see the brief smile on his face. The boy had disobeyed on purpose. Made sense. According to Castiel this boy was a heavy masochist. He was probably looking to start the punishment early. ‘Eager’, Castiel had called him. Indeed.

Is that perhaps where the aggression started? Did disobedience trigger it?

Dean watched, holding his breath, as Castiel came into view. The man was wonderfully nude and Dean had to close his eyes briefly, ignoring the insistent twitch of his cock. This was research. He refused to touch himself. He had to keep the line drawn.

Castiel sauntered into view, looking like he owned everything- and everyone- in that room. He held himself tall, strong, utterly confident. His body was lean- a runner’s body- with sharp hips and thick thighs. Dean took note that his cock was flaccid. He wondered if it was because Castiel had excellent control over his body or if it had deeper meaning.

Castiel stopped in front of Alfie and gripped his chin. Dean could practically feel the nails biting into his own skin. His cock gave another twitch and he shifted, fingers clenched on his thigh.

“You know better than that,” Castiel spoke, glaring down at Alfie. “Perhaps I leave you to it, hm?”

“No, Master,” Alfie breathed, leaning into the fierce grip Castiel had on his chin. “I’m sorry. Please…”

“We’ll see,” Castiel said, seemingly unmoved by the boy’s plea or his unwavering, awed gaze. He roughly released the boy and took a step back, gazing down at Alfie with stern eyes.

“Are you prepared for me?” Castiel asked, circling his Sub slowly.

“Yes, Master.”

“You’re ready to be mine?” Castiel stopped behind Alfie, running a gentle finger down the boy’s neck. “To obey? To serve?”

Alfie swallowed visibly and Dean felt a shiver go down his spine.

“Yes, Master.”

Castiel nodded and gripped the back of Alfie’s neck, pulling him back roughly. He caught the boy’s weight on his thigh and stared down at him.

“You understand the risks you take tonight?”

“Yes, Master.”

“You understand that, no matter what you ask for or how good you are, I am in control and I decide what happens?”

“Yes, Master.”

“You understand our safety words?”

“Yellow for approaching my limit, red for stop,” Alfie answered, gazing up at his Dom adoringly. Castiel either didn’t notice the look or didn’t care. He roughly released Alfie’s neck and pitched him forward with his knee. 

“Get up.”

Alfie scrambled to his feet, clasping his hands behind his back. Castiel walked off-screen but he could see Alfie watching him intently, chest rising and falling with nervous breath. When Castiel returned, he was holding something small in his hands, and Alfie’s eyes glinted with excitement.

“Spread your arms and legs. Make your own ‘X’. No matter what I do to you, you’re not to move from your position. You’re not to come, either. Understood?”

Alfie nodded his head enthusiastically. “Yes, Master.”

Dean licked his dry lips, relaxing the hand still frozen over his mouse. His cock had already begun to throb, half hard in his pants, but he ignored it.

He watched as Castiel positioned Alfie correctly, jerkily moving his hands where he wanted them and kicking his feet a little further apart. He circled Alfie, pressing up behind him, one hand caressing one side of Alfie’s neck as he gently kissed the other. Suddenly Alfie gasped sharply and arched forward, and a devilish grin spread across Castiel’s face as he held the boy upright by his neck.

Alfie shivered and his cock twitched involuntarily...and when Castiel came back around into view, Dean could see why. He held in his hand a small purple remote, no doubt controlling whatever toy he’d shoved into the boy’s ass without warning. Alfie’s gaze followed his hand as Castiel raised the remote, chuckling when he pressed a button and Alfie whimpered. 

“If you come, boy, you won’t get my cock today,” Castiel warned, and Alfie looked like he believed it. Dean found himself praying that the boy used his best behavior, despite knowing the inevitable outcome of the video.

Dean skipped forward a few minutes, into the midst of the edging. Alfie was trembling on his feet, Castiel holding one of his bony hips, a babbling mess while Castiel spoke lowly in his ear and jerked his cock with his free hand. The head was red and slick, and based on the boy’s vocal performance, Dean presumed he was mere seconds from coming when Castiel released him, mouthing at the back of his neck.

“Mm-mm,” Castiel denied him, both hands now firmly around his middle. “Hold your place, boy. You want my cock, don’t you?”

Alfie nodded eagerly and Dean couldn’t blame the boy. Cas was hard now, sporting an impressive erection that so far has gone completely ignored. Dean licked his lips as Alfie begged for it, practically squirming underneath his Dom.

And still, Dean didn’t see any sign of aggression yet. Castiel had a firm hand to be sure, but Dean had yet to see anything that this Sub hadn’t asked for. He took a breath and skipped a little ahead, stopping when he saw the candles come into play. Dean sat back, nails digging into his palms, as he watched Castiel lightly tip the candle forward. A mere drop of hot wax fell and landed on Alfie’s stomach, and the boy released something between a moan and a hiss.

Absently, Dean thought that this kind of play must require a lot of control and precision from the Dom. While hot wax wasn’t the worst thing to come into contact with as far as burns went, too much could do enough damage to require first aid. Too much could cause more pain than even a masochist would want.

He watched, enraptured, as Castiel slowly tortured his Sub. Drops of red wax rained down at a snail’s pace, in seemingly random places, though Dean was sure these spots were picked carefully. Alfie squirmed and moaned and cried out, his cock almost purple and bouncing between his hips. Dean noticed that for the first time in the scene, Castiel seemed to feel some effect now. He breathed just a little harder, his jaw was clenched, his cock twitched, his eyes were nearly black. 

The wax began to drip with greater speed and in greater quantities. The drops got closer to more sensitive areas until they were right on them. Nipples, balls, inner thighs, then finally Alfie’s cock. Dean found himself leaning forward, nose practically pressed to the screen. The scene, while fun to watch, seemed to be going a little long to Dean. The drops of wax becoming almost haphazard, the amount bordering on too much. He could see the skin turning red, irritated with the onslaught, Alfie’s cries just beginning to turn into something other than pleasure.

Then it abruptly stopped. Castiel pulled away and placed the candle back in it’s holder. He produced a damp-looking washcloth and, gently, began removing the many blotches of wax from Alfie’s skin. He gently removed the vibrator from his ass- Dean had almost forgotten it was still there- and whispered lowly to his Sub, words only Alfie could hear, but the effect was still picked up by the camera. Soothing, cooing, placating, almost apologetic. Rewarding Alfie on a job well-done, stroking his hair and kissing his cheek. And the Sub drank it up, practically purring under the praise.

Dean paused the video and frowned, his own state of arousal briefly ignored. Had he just caught a brief glimpse of the aggression? It was too soon to tell. He didn’t know enough about Castiel, or how these scenes normally go, and he certainly didn’t know Alfie’s preferences. What he did know for sure was that Castiel had definitely toed the line.

He unpaused the video and forwarded just a bit more...to the bit he was really here to analyze, it seemed. Castiel hurriedly unbound Alfie, removing the cuffs from his wrists and ankles, and pulled him into a rough kiss, one hand gently resting on the back of his head, the other on the small of his back. 

It was a disorienting mix of rough and gentle, aggression and compassion, love and hate. The camera angle left most of Castiel’s face covered by Alfie’s as he held him close, and by the small smile on Alfie’s face and accompanying nod, Dean assumed he’d been talking to him again. He’d have to remember to ask- somehow, without tipping Castiel off to having consumed his particular form of entertainment- what kinds of things he talked about with his Subs.

But then the moment was over, and Castiel all but tossed Alfie back down to the bed, immediately settling between his legs. He slid his hands under Alfie’s thighs and hoisted them up, exposing the boy’s hole, still slick with lube. Castiel’s hands were so tan and large against Alfie’s thighs, and Dean accidentally found himself wondering what those hands felt like- at least, until he got a glimpse of Castiel’s cock, now standing fully at attention.

Without preamble Castiel lined up and pushed his cock inside with a swift snap of his hips. Alfie cried out and arched as well as he could with Castiel’s hands firmly pressing down on his thighs, bending him into an odd angle. He set a brutal pace, throwing all of his weight behind each thrust, burying himself deep without even giving Alfie the chance to adjust. Alfie was screaming so loud it was hard to tell how much of it was pain and how much was pleasure, but he did keep insisting that he needed it harder, begging Castiel to breed him. 

Dean’s cock ached desperately, throbbed, begging on its own to be touched. Dean pressed a hand to the front of his jeans to relieve the pressure, but all it did was tease him into slipping a hand down into his boxers. 

_ He’s a porn star. This is his job,  _ Dean unconvincingly assured himself, letting out an audible exhale as he made contact with his overheated cock. 

By the time Castiel’s hands found their way to Alfie’s throat, Dean was already staving off his fast-approaching orgasm by gripping the base of his cock. Alfie’s previously intense screams and moans were muffled as his air was restricted, and now...this was when Castiel really came to life.

His hips moved like a well-oiled machine, pumping relentlessly, a constant onslaught to Alfie’s hole as he choked him. He made just enough sound that Dean could tell Castiel was allowing him some air from time to time, sudden gasps the indication of one such time. Castiel had gotten louder in the absence of Alfie’s voice, though, growling out filthy phrases Dean had heard hundreds of times in his own experiences in  _ watching  _ porn...but somehow, when Castiel said them, they had a bit of a different- and more profound- effect on him.

Dean caught the tapping of Alfie’s finger on Castiel’s thigh, asking for his Dom to squeeze harder. He swallowed, his heart pounding, watching as Castiel complied with the requests until Dean was sure Alfie would die right there on the screen. His face was red and purple, his gasps coming shorter and shorter, his struggling weakening as his body began to fade from lack of oxygen. And still, Alfie kept tapping, and the camera kept rolling. 

Dean saw the split-second hesitation then. He saw Castiel tense his muscles, ready to squeeze the very breath out of his Sub. He didn’t, of course, his grip loosening. Alfie took a ragged breath and, with muttered permission from his Dom, came with a hoarse cry. Castiel released him completely, leaving an angry hand mark around the skin of Alfie’s neck, and pulled out. He hadn’t come, but the image was fading to black and credits began to roll.

Dean let out a breath and leaned back, his hands going slack. His boxers were wet, but he ignored the mess for the moment. He stared at the screen and worried his bottom lip. As enlightening as the video was, it was more or less inconclusive at best. To the average person, this whole video was aggressive and angry. To Dean, who had more knowledge of the BDSM world than he led on with his patient, it seemed to be a normal- albeit intense- scene. 

The end of the waxing, though, and the strangulation...they had Dean pausing. Alfie had not issued any complaints and Dean did not believe he witnessed anything the Sub hadn’t signed up for. Still, those two instances Dean felt he saw a blurring of the line. Whether Castiel realized it or not- and Dean believed he really didn’t- he had begun to manifest aggressive action before he had somehow turned it off. All while oblivious to what was happening.

Whatever was happening, it was subconscious. Anger, aggression, maybe even guilt, that Castiel was holding on to and- for a reason as yet unknown- coming out during his scenes with his Subs. And, interestingly enough, Castiel seemed to be leaving these scenes unsatisfied. His cock had remained flaccid for nearly half the video and he never came, barely even moaned.

Dean clicked his tongue and grimaced when he moved, drawing attention back to his wet boxers. He leaned forward to pull a few tissues off the box at his desk and did a quick pass-over, ultimately deciding to shower instead.

Thoughts of Castiel hadn’t yet ceased, however, both work-related and not, and Dean’s cock was somehow still hard as he stripped out of his clothes and started the shower. 

They’d only just begun to scratch the surface of Castiel’s psyche in therapy, and after the information Castiel had already given him combined with the knowledge of the video, Dean knew what his next step would be. A step that most dreaded because, from his own experience, it always stirred up shit no one wanted to remember.

He’d need to ask Castiel about his past.


	5. Author's Note

mishaminion here

I thought any readers waiting on this story to update should know that I am no longer writing. Love is something I don't have faith in anymore. Writing about it has become impossible for me. Until further notice, if any should come, this story and any other stories that I'm involved with are on HIATUS.

Sydney may update this on her own. It's up to her.

Than you for reading.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a bit but there's finally a new chapter finished and ready. I hope you enjoy it, and thank you to the readers still here supporting us!

“What now?”

“I need you to tell me about your past,” Dean repeated, an ankle crossed over a knee, tapping his pen on his pad. “Anything you find significant. Your feelings on your parents, siblings, any friends who had an influence on you at any point of time in your life. Your dating history, your sexual preference, the way you were raised…”

He trailed off as Castiel stared at him blankly, mirroring Dean’s posture, tapping his own fingers impatiently against his shin.

“I’m not really sure that’s going to be helpful in my particular situation, doctor,” Castiel said a little coldly, hoping Dean wouldn’t notice. 

“You seem to have a decent understanding of psychology in a general sense,” Dean stated, “and as such, you know that even the smallest things can have the most profound effect on a person’s psyche. You’ve come to me because you have inexplicable, unconscious anger that’s affecting your work and sex life, that you want me to get to the bottom of so you can continue the life you say you want to live. I’m trying to help you achieve that goal, Castiel.”

Castiel crossed his arms over his chest and shifted in his seat, looking toward the window. Dean waited, unperturbed. 

Finally Castiel took a deep breath and let it out with a huff, uncrossing his arms and legs and leaning forward. “ _ Fine. _ But my family doesn’t even know about my real career, so I hardly see how they can have any impact on my performance.”

“Humor me.”

Castiel stared him down for a long moment, but when he realized Dean wasn’t going to budge he sighed and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. He crossed his arms and wished he had canceled like he had wanted to. A pair of green eyes was not worth this, no matter how gorgeous they were.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Cas mumbled, unable to keep the growl out of his voice. “I had a typical upbringing. My father is a pastor, my mother was old-fashioned so she preferred to stay at home.”

Dean raised a brow. “Old-fashioned in the sense of…?”

Castiel shrugged, his head leaned back and resting against the back of the couch. “You know, the 50’s wife. Housewife. She believed the woman’s place was at home, serving the husband.”

“You don’t agree.”

Castiel snorted. “She can live her life how she wants.” 

Dean just looked at him silently, his expression giving away nothing, so Castiel licked his lips and continued. “My brother and I... we were home-schooled. My mother was part of a neighborhood group. We were taught a Christian-based curriculum.”

He paused and scratched his cheek. “That was alright, I guess. She kept us in the group to keep up our social activities, if you can call them that.” Cas grunted. “Church lock-ins, gospel choir, shit like that.”

Dean tapped his pen. “Not a fan of the religion?”

Castiel pondered that seriously for a moment then shrugged. “Not necessarily,” he admitted, “but I find Christians to be...overbearing.”

Dean hummed. “Tell me about your brother.”

Castiel finally lifted his head. “Gabriel. Older, by a few years. He left home as soon as he graduated high school. To direct porn. Needless to say the parents were not happy. Their relationship is strained at best. He and I are close, though. After I graduated, he offered me an opportunity and I took it, moved here to the city.”

“I assume you didn’t tell your parents where you were going?”

“They knew I was coming here. They just didn’t know it was because Gabriel was here.”

“Why?”

It was a simple enough question, but Castiel found himself not wanting to answer. He cleared his throat and shook his head, shrugging. “I guess because it wasn’t worth the hassle. Mom would’ve cried and dad would’ve...well, he would’ve  _ preached _ , and…” he trailed off, suddenly aware of the conversation the next part would open and hoping Dean didn’t notice.

No such luck.

“And...what?”

Castiel sighed and rolled his eyes. “I was  _ actually _ going to school here, too, and they were helping me pay. And I knew if they knew about my...extracurricular activities, they would stop supporting me...financially.”

Dean pressed his lips together and nodded, no judgement evident on his face. “I see. So this opportunity Gabriel offered you...what was it, exactly?”

Castiel looked down, chewing his lip. “Well. Gabriel was the only person who knew I wasn’t straight. There was an opportunity to get into his business to make some extra money, but they were specifically looking for someone willing to Sub...and especially for men. I gave Gabriel a small percentage of my commissions to cover my portion of rent and utilities, and in return I was given free opportunity to explore my sexuality and a place to stay. Gabriel was hardly home anyway, so it was like having a place to myself. It was the first taste of freedom I’d ever really had.” He paused and cleared his throat again, a small smile pulling at his lips at a memory. “I, uh...well. It only took a couple of scenes for it became blatantly obvious I was  _ not _ submissive...far from it.” He chuckled. “So Gabriel set me up to apprentice for a seasoned Dom, and the rest is history.”

“Hard to imagine you as a Sub.”

Castiel snapped his head up and narrowed his eyes at Dean, whose eyes very briefly widened before he cleared his throat and looked down at his notes.

“I...just mean, you’re not like the Subs I’ve dealt with in the past,” Dean said quickly, his expression much more composed when he looked up again.

Castiel smiled at him. “Of course.”

“How, uh...how long did you attend classes?”

“All four years,” Castiel answered automatically. “I did get my degree in graphic design, so I wasn’t completely lying. But by the time I graduated, I’d already gotten popular enough in this business to be making decent money, and the opportunities were continuously pouring in. It would have been crazy of me to start over with graphic design. I was already making upwards of 75 grand a year. I wasn’t going to make that straight out of the gate with any 9 to 5 office job.”

“Did your parents attend your graduation?”

“They did,” Castiel said, nodding. “They, uh...flew in the night before and out the morning after. I passed off Gabriel’s place as my own, so they wouldn’t worry about me. They were proud of how successful I was already...I told them I’d been supplementing a grocer job by selling my art.”

“You don’t think they would have been proud if they knew the truth?”

“That my place of residence was paid for each month with dirty money? Hell no. They would’ve demanded every cent back they gave me.  _ With _ interest.”

Dean hummed, tapping the tip of his pen to his chin thoughtfully. “Really.”

“Yeah.” Castiel huffed a laugh. 

“Did you refrain from sexual activity until you left home?”

“God, no,” Castiel shook his head. “I’d done...enough.”

“Did they believe you had?”

“They pretended they didn’t know a thing,” Castiel said. “Whether that was true or not, I don’t know. I can’t imagine they didn’t at least suspect.”

“Are you referring to them suspecting your sexual activity, or your sexual preferences?”

Castiel’s head snapped up and he met Dean’s curious eyes. “They at least pretended not to know about me having sex. But they wouldn’t have dreamed I like men sometimes. Or rather, I just...like having sex, and the parts the person I have sex with have are irrelevant to my decision.”

Dean nodded and cleared his throat as he leaned forward, placing both feet flat on the ground. He licked his lips as he met Castiel’s eyes again and tilted his head. “If you had told your parents then you were in the adult entertainment business, how do you think they would have reacted?”

Castiel shrugged. “Same way they did with Gabriel, I imagine. Maybe a bit worse. I’m the youngest and I was a far more straight-laced child. Gabriel was an intentional troublemaker, so nothing he ever did was surprising.”

“So, you feel you were the good son?”

Castiel blinked, crinkling his eyebrows. “I’m not sure I’d put it that way, but compared to Gabriel...I suppose I would be. If one looked at it in a skewed way. I’m by no means the ideal son.”

“Why do you say that?”

Castiel laughed humorlessly and stood, absently grabbing a small stress ball off the coffee table and tossing it between his hands as he walked to the window. “Is any boy really his parents’ idea of a perfect son?”

“I wouldn’t know. My parents have been gone for a long time.”

Castiel paused and looked back at Dean, but the man showed little emotion. He just stared back at Cas, waiting for him to continue.

“I...I’m sorry,” Cas stammered, feeling like a total jackass.

“Don’t be,” Dean shrugged, “You couldn’t have known. Please, continue.”

Castiel swallowed and looked back out the window, resuming his motion with the ball.

“It’s nothing so dramatic,” he shrugged, clearing his voice. “I just never followed the path they set for me. My mother is overbearing, my father is rather distant, and both know more about the Bible than they do their own children. I think the only reason they had children was because the Lord demanded his children be fruitful. They were just doing their Christian duty, I suppose. Or it was because that’s what society deems is how one achieves happiness. Marry, have children, house with a picket fence. That’s what they want for me. My mother worries that I’m not married. She mourns the fact that she has no grandchildren.”

“And that’s not what you want for yourself.” It wasn’t a question, and Cas was grateful for the open look on Dean’s face.

“Well...no,” Cas huffed, squeezing the ball. “I’ve never wanted that. I never had a desire for children. As for marriage? Mm...monogamy has its place I suppose, but I think my job makes that difficult.”

“And your relationship with your parents now?”

Castiel chewed his lip, watching cars pass by outside. “Forced. My mother calls weekly. Spends most of the time venting about Gabe, then asking about my personal life. I’m running out of excuses to tell her. I suppose, one day, they’ll have to know the truth.”

“When do you think that day will be?”

Castiel turned to look at him. “I’m not a mind reader.”

Dean snorted. “What I mean is, what do you think it will take for you to tell them?”

Castiel paused, then turned back to the window. “I’m...not sure.”

“How do you think they’d react to knowing you’ve participated with people of the same sex?”

“Irrelevant,” Castiel said, turning back to Dean. He made his way slowly back to his chair. “They’ll never know that.”

“They wouldn’t take it so hot, then?”

Castiel laughed, sitting back down with a sigh. “I’d probably never hear from them again.”

Dean tongued the inside of his cheek, nodding absently. 

“Listen, this isn’t some teenage sexual frustration,” Castiel said. “My parents aren’t entitled to my personal life, especially when they have a tendency to judge me for it. So don’t feed me any of that pent-up anger-from-denying-my-sexual-identity bullshit.”

Dean quirked a smile. “I wasn’t going to.”

Castiel shifted uncomfortably. “Well, good.”

Dean chuckled and glanced at his watch. “Well, I hate to cut this short right when we’re getting to the good stuff, but...time’s up. Same time next week, okay? Keep journaling. Anything that comes to mind, whether you think it’s relevant or not.”

They both stood, and Dean stuck out a hand. Castiel took it, and they locked eyes again, and perhaps the handshake lasted a little too long because of it, but Castiel couldn’t find it in himself to care. Dean was unfairly beautiful and paying him $80 a week for a 50 minute session to talk about shit he’d kept hidden for the majority of his adult life was worth every penny to get to stare at him.

Of course, he thought this at the beginning and end of every session, just not so much in between.

Finally Dean cleared his throat and released Castiel’s hand, smiling as he gestured with his notebook to the door. “Bela will schedule you for next week. It was nice to see you again, Castiel. Take care of yourself.”

\----

Whether Dr. Dean Winchester knew it or not, he’d forced Castiel to rethink his answer to the last question he’d been given, and his subsequent response: 

_ Did _ his aggression stem from his upbringing, or perhaps the knowledge of his parents’ disapproval if they knew the truth?

He’d been in the middle of pondering just that the next day, on a blessedly needed day off, while lounging on his couch in front of his ignored Netflix. Cas still had a hard time believing he was even exhibiting aggression, but the complaints had to be from  _ something _ he was doing. Or perhaps...not doing.

He mindlessly flipped through the movies. Cas knew he gave good aftercare. Once the scene was over and the cameras stopped rolling, he’d take his Sub to the calming room. A small space he’d set up himself with gentle blue walls, plants, a couch, a few scented candles and a small stereo to play soundscapes. As far as he knew, he never left a Sub out of sorts after an intense scene. He always made sure they were sound, steady, every piece put back in place. They spoke about the scene, too, during these times, and not once had a Sub said anything about him being too aggressive. 

Cas growled and tossed the remote aside, no movie picked out as he fell onto his back. It was incredibly frustrating. His Subs were supposed to talk to him. That was part of the whole aftercare purpose, to discuss the good as well as the bad. And yet, they’d chosen to submit their complaints anonymously. 

Was he so difficult to talk to? Did his Subs not feel comfortable enough with him? These were troubling thoughts, leaving Cas concerned and anxious. Had him doubting his ability to be the kind of Dom he knew he could be, needed to be, for his Subs. They were in his care and he was failing. Balthazar was right. If this kept up, he would start to lose his Subs, his way of life. The thought was scary enough to have Cas jumping off the couch, pacing the living room briefly before he abruptly decided he needed to go for a run. Scrubbing a hand through his already messy hair, he blindly grabbed a pair of running shorts and an old t-shirt. He pulled on his sneakers and was out the door, taking off at a brisk jog.

Running usually helped him clear his mind, but for some reason this time all it did was magnify the thoughts already there. And not only that, but they tended to dance just around the topic of Dr. Winchester himself, and running became increasingly difficult when physical energy shifted abruptly into sexual energy. 

Cas finally stopped on the corner of a mostly empty sidewalk and bent over with his hands on his knees as he caught his breath, attempting to shake thoughts of fucking Dean Winchester from his mind. When that didn’t work, he pulled out his phone and sent Balthazar a text to meet him at the coffee house on their block, hopeful that his friend could help make sense of his situation.

Balthazar was already sitting at a small table with two coffees when Cas made it to the cafe, looking ever-fashionable in his cowl neck sweater, one leg thrown over the other, giving him a smirk that Castiel translated as lighthearted judgement and amusement. 

“Well, don’t you look dashing,” Balthazar greeted him, sliding a coffee across the table as Cas took his seat. “A regular preponderant stud.”

“Thank you,” Cas said without irony, taking a long sip from his cup. “I hadn’t planned to meet. I just need...advice.”

“From me?” Balthazar raised an eyebrow, smirk still in place. “You must really be desperate.”

“That, and I’m now realizing that other than you and Gabe, I don’t have much of anyone else to ask,” Cas said, setting down his cup and clearing his throat. “It’s this doctor. I think...I think he’s just gotten in my head, that’s all.”

“Isn’t that the point?”

“No! Well, yes, but-”

“Cassie, it’s not a bad thing to talk about those things you maybe don’t want to,” Balthazar said, as gently as his pride allowed. “Are you really listening, or are you going to placate your brother and save your ass?”

Cas thought about it for a moment. “Both, I guess.”

Balthazar blinked at him, sighing. “What’s the issue, dear friend?”

“Well, to start, he’s making me rethink the whole reason I got started in the business in the first place. He’s made me realize I can’t go on forever lying to my parents about what I do...which ultimately means I can’t go on forever lying about... _ who  _ I do.” Cas paused, taking another sip of his coffee with a frown. “And to top it all off, I want to fuck my therapist so bad I can’t think about these issues long enough to ask real questions about them because I’m spending the full 50 minutes staring at his goddamn lips.”

He hadn’t necessarily meant to say the last part, but it was done. Balthazar huffed a laugh.

“Did you know about this?” Cas demanded, leaning over the table.

“Did I know the therapist I recommended you is apparently Adonis? No, Cassie, I didn’t know. Had I known, I might’ve kept him for myself.”

Cas growled and sat back in his chair, glaring at a random spot on the wall to his right.

Balthazar leaned over the table this time. “I fail to see how this is a problem. Your doctor being easy on the eyes isn’t a reason to stop seeing him.”

_ “Exactly.” _

“So ask him out.”

“I don’t date,” Cas said, for the millionth time. “And even if I did, I hardly think a therapist seeing a client is within the legal bound of limits. And even if it were, I can’t imagine Doctorate Dean wants to be bound and gagged.”

Balthazar shrugged. “You never know.”

Cas pressed the heels of his hands to his closed eyes, shaking his head. “I’m so fucked, Bal. I’ve got mom calling every other day wanting to know when I’m getting married and having kids and if I’m coming in for Christmas. Dad texting begging me to come in so mom will stop harping to him about it. Both of them bitching at me about Gabe’s immaturity while Gabe fucks off to a different girl’s house each night. I’m the youngest! Why am I Gabriel’s keeper?”

Balthazar nodded apathetically, eyebrows raised.

“And then all this shit coming up with work, and you and Gabe insisted on this shrink-”

“Hey-”

“And now I’m seeing someone who might possibly be the most attractive man on the planet and instead of fucking him, he’s getting into my goddamn head and making me think about shit I don’t want to be thinking about!”

Balthazar quirked a smile. “So maybe you did need that shrink after all.”

Cas sighed and slouched back in his chair. “I’m serious. What do I do?”

Balthazar shrugged nonchalantly, looking down at his cup. “Fuck him.”

“I can’t fuck my therapist!”

“Then...I don’t know…” Balthazar’s attention was turned to his phone, scrolling lazily. “Continue to see him, then.”

Cas rolled his eyes hard, groaning. “When I tell you I can’t stop thinking about fucking him…”

“Look, Cassie.” Balthazar sat both his phone and coffee cup down, folding his hands together atop the table as he met Cas’s gaze. “Far as I can tell, you have two options here. Continue to see the insanely hot therapist, or don’t. What you and him do on your personal time is your business and I should hardly think it would matter, so long as you’re getting the help you need in the end. And just think- what better way for him to diagnose you than have a taste for himself?”

Cas stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly.”

Cas made a noise in the back of his throat and snatched his coffee cup from the tabletop, staring down at it. Balthazar watched him silently, arching a brow.

“When’s your next appointment?”

“Friday.”

“After your scene?” 

“Yeah, just about right after, actually. Why?” Castiel looked up at Balthazar, finding him giving a concerned look.

“Is that best, do you think, right after a scene? Imagine your headspace, Cassie. You’ll-” he paused, frowning. “Well, on second thought, it’ll probably be helpful for the good doctor to see you in person after a scene anyway, give him a better idea of what he’s dealing with.”

Cas shrugged. “Not sure how that’ll help.”

“You do get particularly on edge-”

“And I get that way when I  _ haven’t _ had any too, so I’m not sure I see your point.”

Balthazar smirked and licked his lips, sitting back in his chair and tapping a finger on the top of his cup. “Was this helpful? Because I’m afraid I need to get going...I have a date and you know how much I detest being late.”

“A date?” Cas raised a brow as Balthazar stood and finished off his coffee. The two of them made their way to the door, Balthazar throwing his cup in the trash on his way out.

“Yes, Cassie, a date.”

“With who?”

“You don’t know her.”

“A client?”

“Castiel-”

“Who is it?”

Balthazar signed and stopped abruptly, turning to face Cas with the slightest hint of amusement in his eyes. “Look, this is a big change for me and I’m not sure yet how things will go, so I would appreciate you allowing me to maintain my privacy on the matter at this time.”

“Is it Abby?”

Balthazar snorted and shook his head as he turned and began walking away. “Goodbye, Cassie. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Cas grinned as he watched his friend disappear around the corner, phone already to his ear. He shivered against the cool breeze, decided it was way too cold to be standing outdoors in just shorts and a t-shirt, and jogged back to his apartment.

He wasn’t sure that Balthazar’s talk had done him any good, but he did always feel better in general after speaking with his friend. Cas found himself daring to explore the possibilities should he be so bold as to ask his therapist out, genuinely surprised at the fact that a good majority of his daydreams were practically innocent  _ dates _ . He was disappointed by the almost zero pornographic imagery that linked itself to thoughts of Dr. Winchester. Not for lack of trying- it was as if his brain was having trouble generating a naked body anywhere God-like enough to possibly belong with the man’s perfect face.

He could, however, still imagine his lips...and even then Cas knew that no amount of time would ever let him forget them.


	7. Chapter 7

So maybe Balthazar had been right when he warned Castiel against meeting with his therapist directly after a scene. 

Not that it was so outwardly obvious what he’d been up to only a mere half hour earlier… what with the nice shirt he’d intentionally packed to change into, complete with his typical casual black slacks. He opted for the metro over a cab, which ultimately led him directly past a small bakery called Nino’s, located on the same strip as Dr. Winchester’s office. A glance at the array of different colored pastries, macarons, and various other goodies in the store window had Cas ducking inside- since he ran perpetually early anyway- and he picked himself up a cluster of monkey bread to tide him over until dinner. As he pulled out his wallet to pay the cashier he spotted a blueberry pie in one of the cases, and before he could stop himself he’d added a piece to his order.

Cas wasn’t even much a sweet tooth, only satisfying the rare craving with the occasional small pastry or breakfast bread. Pie reminded him of Dean, however. Possibly because of the slightly hidden picture on the bookshelf in Dean’s office, displaying his therapist in what appeared to be an ameteur pie eating contest. And by the looks of Dean’s cherry-covered grin, he’d won.

Before he could really question his motivation behind buying the piece of pie, Cas quickly left the bakery, bag of goodies in hand, and walked the rest of the way to Dean’s quaint but cozy office building.

Cas took a breath and let himself inside. The living room was complete with a love seat, reading chair, more plants scattered about, and a coffee table with various reading material. Bela looked up and waved from her desk.

“You’re a bit early,” she said with an amused smile. He was always early. “He’s finishing up with another. Make yourself comfortable.”

Cas did just that, choosing the reading chair and opening his bag of treats. He picked at the bread, chewing slowly as he perused the pictures on the wall. They were all original paintings clearly done by an ameteur, albeit one with some talent. They were all seemingly random and Cas found that he enjoyed looking at them every time he came. There was one in particular he especially enjoyed, of a simple fall scene with splashes of bright orange, red, yellow, and brown all coming together to create the illusion of leaves cascading downward. It was the kind of sight his fellow Northerners would drive miles South to see in person back when he and his family lived in New York, making a vacation of driving the winding mountain roads that were plentiful in West Virginia, Tennessee, and Kentucky. He’d never actually seen them himself- not unless in passing, anyway- but he did find himself wondering where Dean may have been raised before finding his way into the city. He most certainly didn’t strike Cas as the city type, and in fact he was interested in finding out exactly how the man ended up somewhere like D.C.

He heard a door open and spun on his heel, watching a young woman who looked to be in her early 20s walk out of Dean’s office with a tissue pressed to her nose. Dean held the door open for her with a resigned smile, giving her a nod.

“Just schedule for next week with Bela. It was nice to see you, Krissy. Don’t forget to journal.”

Cas pretended not to be paying so much attention with Dean finally turned his attention to him, kick-starting their conversation with an enthusiastic “Cas! Come on in” and a wave of his arm.

“Castiel Novak,” Dean said- as if he was reminding himself of his next obligation- and pushed the door shut behind them. “How was your week?”

“Not bad,” Cas said, awkwardly standing a few steps away and suddenly realizing he hadn’t actually prepared any answers at all for this visit. He opened and closed his mouth a few times and Dean arched a brow. Finally, Dean motioned to the bag in Cas’s hand.

“Whatcha got there?”

“Huh? Oh! Right, yeah...I- well, I stop by this coffeehouse sometimes to get myself a pastry and I just thought...I mean, I figured if you hadn’t eaten, it’d give you a little brain food for the session.”

Dean blinked at him, and Cas felt his face tingling. He turned away quickly and cleared his throat, motioning to the chair. “So can I, uh…”

“Well, wait-"  


Cas stopped and Dean held out his hand, looking pointedly at the bag in Cas’s. Cas must’ve stared a minute too long.

“It’s for me, yeah?”

“Yeah...yes! Yes. Sorry.” Cas coughed and handed over the bag, immediately ducking his head as he rounded the armchair and took his seat. The bag crinkled behind him and Cas sunk down in his seat, ears burning.

_ You. Fucking. Idiot. _

“Hey, pie! Pie’s my favorite,” Dean said gleefully as he plopped down in his own chair, looking boyishly pleased. “Thanks, Cas.”

Cas licked his dry lips and nodded, staring down at the floor. With a start he realized he’d never bowed down or had yielded to anyone in his life and snapped his head back up, straightening his back. He had no reason to be embarrassed. A piece of pie meant nothing.

“You’re welcome,” he said in a steady voice. A little voice in his head that annoyingly sounded like Balthazar told him he’d bought the pie to seduce Dean. Ridiculous. Yes, they said a way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, but even if that were the case, Cas was  _ not _ interested in seducing his therapist. He needed the man to fix him, not fuck him.

A tightening in his crotch told Cas otherwise, but he ignored it. 

“So,” Dean started, giving the pie one last glance before reluctantly pushing it away. His eyes found Cas’s and he smiled. “How are we feeling today?”

“I’m fine,” Cas said automatically.

Dean raised a brow. “Define ‘fine’.”

Cas frowned, eyebrows crinkling. “Would you care for me to look it up in the dictionary?” he snorted.

“Dictionary definition is more or less useless in this setting,” Dean shrugged, still smiling, and it was annoyingly beautiful. “What does ‘fine’ mean to you?”

Cas fought the very strong urge to sigh and leaned back, briefly staring up at the ceiling as if to pray for mercy from a God he wasn’t even sure he believed in. Leave it to a therapist to turn meaningless small talk into a whole  _ thing _ . Then again, the question of how he was doing probably wasn’t small talk to a therapist.

“I guess…” he murmured, tapping his knee, then finally sighing and looking back at Dean, “it just means how it...sounds. I’m neither good, nor particularly bad. I just...am.”

“Mmhm,” Dean watched Cas thoughtfully before jotting something down quickly at a pad of yellow legal paper. “Is this neutral feeling common?”

Cas blinked and shrugged. “I suppose. Isn’t it with everyone?”

Dean looked up and frowned slightly. “Maybe. From time to time. But generally, someone who is happy with their life and relationships would usually not describe every day as simply ‘fine’. ‘Neither good, nor particularly bad’. You’re a whole, real person, Cas. You deserve more than just a neutral existence.”

“So...what should I have said?”

Dean shook his head. “You should only say the truth. Hopefully, in time, that truth will be something like ‘I’m good’. And mean it.”

“Well then I guess it’s a good thing I’m here,” Cas said before he could stop himself.

Dean quirked a smile. “I guess it is.” He tapped the end of his pen against the pad a few times, staring long enough to make Cas squirm a little in his seat. He almost said something just to break the silence when Dean spoke again.

“Now. That said, tell me about your week. Tell me about your day. How are you, really?”

“This sounds awfully domestic, doctor.”

Dean shrugged. “Or a friend concerned for your wellbeing.”

“Or a doctor paid to talk to me.”

“You’re just stalling now.”

Cas scoffed and slouched down in his chair. “I didn’t have much going on all week. I only worked a couple of days and they were uneventful. I mean, they were fun, but nothing out of the ordinary. Just another day at the office, you know?” Cas huffed a laugh and Dean smiled back, nodding encouragingly. “Uh...no complaints this week. I even checked with Gabe to be sure. And after today’s scene-”

“You had a scene today?” Dean was suddenly very interested, leaning forward slightly in his chair, his pen poised on the pad. 

“I- yes…” Cas said slowly. “Ended a few hours ago.”

Dean pointed the pen at Cas. “I want to come back to that, but continue.”

“Uh, sure. Anyway, I felt good after today’s scene. I had a good talk with the Sub during our cooldown, a new guy, thinking it might be good business to do more scenes together.”

Dean nodded. “And besides work, did you do anything else this week?”

Cas frowned and chewed the inside of his lip, looking down at the floor. “I saw a friend for coffee a couple of days ago.”

“A good friend?”

“Knows me better than anyone.”

“What’d you talk about?”

Cas stalled at that, his mouth hanging slightly agape half a second too long. “O-oh, y’know, nothing really. Whatever normal guys talk about when they catch up.”  
Dean narrowed his eyes. “That’s a very generic answer.”

“We talked about work. About...therapy,” Cas mumbled, and Dean quirked a brow. “I mean, we didn’t  _ talk  _ talk about it. He just asked if I was still going and what I thought of it. Then we talked about...uh, his date. Well, sort of. He told me he was going on a date but refused to tell me who it was with. Cheeky bastard.”

“Is your friend supportive of your decision to get therapy?” Dean asked.

“He’s the one who recommended it,” Cas answered automatically. 

“Mmm.” Dean made a few notes on his pad as Cas watched intently, until he looked up and they locked eyes. Cas was the first to look away- which he’d curse himself for later, but in that moment it was a matter of looking away or kissing the life out of Dr. Winchester’s perpetually pouty lips- and Dean continued his line of questioning. “And the rest of the week?”

Cas shrugged again. “Nothing really. I didn’t leave home for a couple of days. Hung around the apartment watching television. I made a trip down to the complex gym a couple of times a day. Went grocery shopping Sunday evening. And...that’s about it.”

Dean tilted his head and hummed. Cas gritted his teeth. What he wouldn’t give to know what the man was thinking or writing on that damn pad. It was enormously frustrating to not be able to read him like he could his Subs. Dean kept it all carefully held in check, every thought behind a mask of professionalism. 

“Do you date?” he suddenly asked, catching Cas off guard.

“Uh,” Cas blinked then shrugged. “I...well, I have my Subs-”

“So you consider yourself to be dating your Subs?”

Cas clicked his mouth shut, blinked again, then quickly shook his head. “Ah, no. No I don’t. It’s...I mean, yes, what we do is intimate but it’s not that sort of relationship.”

“I see,” Dean tapped his pen. “So you don’t have that sort of relationship outside of your work, then.”

“I suppose not,” Cas said slowly, having never thought of it that way before. He got what he needed from his Subs, right? He didn’t need a relationship. 

“Why, do you think?”

Cas frowned slightly, his chest oddly tightening in what he realized was discomfort. “I...is it a problem that I don’t?”

Dean shrugged. “Not particularly. Just curious.”

Cas raised a brow. “My line of work makes anything romantic in nature a bit difficult. And I’m...really not the type to put much stock in things like love or marriage.”

Dean stared then tilted his head again. “Well first...I never said relationships had to lead to marriage, but it’s interesting that you associate them with that. And second, explain a bit more about not putting stock in love.”

Cas shrugged and found the stress ball on the table beside the couch, squeezing it a few times. He briefly wondered if other patients used it as much as he did. “I don’t know. It all seems rather fruitless. The word itself is overused; to the point where I think people as a whole have forgotten what to be ‘in love’ truly means. And it usually just ends in pain, doesn’t it? You end up hating someone you used to love, or hurting them, being hurt by them. Relationships sour, the happiness they think they’ve discovered so fleeting it might as well not have been there to begin with. And marriage? Divorce. Or, like my parents, you stayed married and live a polite, unhappy life. I trust the feeling about as much as I trust people, which is to say, not much at all.”

“You sound like you speak from experience.”

Cas wanted to deny it, but he could only make himself shrug.

“While I’m not sure I agree with that outlook,” Dean began slowly, choosing his words carefully, “I think I understand where you’re coming from.” He leaned forward and sat his pen and pad down- face down, of course- and pinched the bridge of his nose briefly before looking back up at Cas. “I believe I’ve told you already that I lost my parents when I was young?”

“Yeah…” Cas said, straightening in his seat.

“Some of the earliest memories I have of my parents were ones that…” Dean furrowed his brow, looking through Cas’s chest rather than in his eyes, for a change. “Ones that seemed happy as a kid, that now, lookin’ back...if I’d been wiser, I’d have seen the signs. I’d have known a lot earlier that sometimes, even when people love each other, they’re doing more harm together than good. My parents loved each other; there was no doubt about that. But...they weren’t right for each other. There were a lot of fights, lotta resentment and misunderstandings and eventually, they both realized neither of them were the people they thought they would be. Neither of them were the people they intended to be, or longed to be. It was like they looked at each other one day and decided that was it, they’d done the marriage thing and the kid thing and it was time to close the book and move onto the next story.” Dean paused. "Unfortunately lost them both not long after that. Dad first, weeks after Sammy's third birthday- car accident. Mom's was cancer a little over two years later."

“Shit. I’m...I’m so sorry.”

Dean shook his head and waved a hand dismissively. “All that to say, the happiest I ever remember seeing my parents was one day a few weeks after the divorce was finalized. It was my 6th birthday and dad had bought me my first BB gun. He and mom, they used to like to go to the shooting range together and of course I couldn’t go then, but I always begged them to. Dad came back to the house and we spent the day in the backyard, dad setting up a small ‘shooting range’ for me. Mom taught me gun safety, dad taught me how to shoot. Both of ‘em looked so proud the first time I was able to knock my first can off a wooden post from 20 yards away. Sammy- my brother- was just a little baby then, and my mom bounced him on her knee and clapped his hands together for me. Dad picked me up and spun me around, cheering for me. It was the happiest day of my life.” 

Cas opened his mouth and promptly closed it again.

Dean licked his lips- Castiel couldn’t  _ not _ notice- and pressed his them together briefly before speaking. “Sometimes you can love someone dearly, but love isn’t always enough to bridge other differences. Sometimes, you might bring out terrible qualities in each other that you don’t have otherwise. And sometimes, people are better off walking away than they are staying. I learned a valuable lesson from my parents that day. Set boundaries you’re comfortable with- and that may vary from person to person- and love within those bounds. My parents loved each other. They just couldn’t love each other past their bounds.” He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I understand your point of view, Castiel. And I understand it to come from a place of great pain for you. If you have a romantic past I’m unaware of, I hope you can find a way to share it with me eventually. I’d like to have a better understanding of why you feel this way, so I can help you work towards a more positive outlook.” Dean paused, watching Cas, but Cas refused to meet his gaze this time. He tried to make himself look at Dean, but try as he might, his pride wouldn’t allow it.

“That said, if you aren’t a marriage guy, there’s nothing wrong with that, either. Just don't throw away potential because of a bad experience- know it's what you actually want. Or in this case, don't want.”

“I’m not sure my ‘bounds’ allow me to fully give myself to another person,” Cas said before he could stop himself, a rare moment of undiluted honesty. Dean looked almost as surprised he said it as Cas felt, and his face went hot as he averted his eyes.

After a long moment, Dean spoke.

“Are you ready to talk about that?”

“No,” Cas said immediately, grateful for the out, and added: “please.”

Dean’s eyebrow ticked up a notch, but he nodded. “How about we talk about your scene today?”

Castiel both physically and mentally relaxed, letting out a harsh sigh when he realized just how tense he’d gotten. Alright, so he wasn’t ready for the deep stuff yet. That much was obvious. Dean had gotten more out of him than any other, however, except perhaps Balthazar. 

“As I said, this was a new one,” Cas cleared his throat, shifting the stress ball between his hands. “With new Subs, I like to spend the first several sessions getting to know them, just as they get to know me. I learn what makes them tick, so to speak. Their pleasures, their pains, their limits.”

“And how do you do that?”

Cas bit his lip and shrugged a shoulder. “It’s different for each one. Some of it is done off camera, either because it is merely logistical work or because it doesn’t make for particularly exciting viewing material. With this one, he enjoys rather intense humiliation. It’s a fine line to tread. Going too far is easy to do, even for someone as experienced as me, and ‘too far’ is always different for each Sub. It is all too easy to send your Sub down a dark train of thought and immensely difficult to drag them back out of it.”

“Makes sense,” Dean nodded thoughtfully, chewing on the tip of his pen. Cas found this incredibly distracting. “Is that enjoyable for you? To tread this line?”

Cas looked out the window, thinking for a moment as he squeezed the ball between his fingers. “It is a challenge, and I do enjoy challenges. If I were completely honest, I don’t find much satisfaction from humiliation scenes. I don’t take on a lot of Subs who want this; just a couple to keep my skills up, to have the variety.”

“Why do you not like humiliating your Subs? Forgive my ignorance, but I thought that was a big part of BDSM.”

“Oh, it certainly can be,” Cas nodded, turning back to Dean with a small smile. “This world has many different sects. Different cravings, wants, needs. Some live exclusively to make their Subs grovel at their feet. It’s just never been to my particular taste. The only begging I want from my Sub is for release."

He’d expected some sort of reaction at that from Dean, but got nothing more than another nod and a few seconds of frantic scribbling on his pad. “And so how are you and this new Sub getting on so far?”

“Uh, good,” Cas said, gently bouncing the ball against the arm of the chair. “He’s younger, which is typically not my preference but he made up for the lack of experience with his enthusiasm. I think we’re planning on setting up again next month.”

“Wonderful.”

“Is it?”

Dean stopped writing to look at him. “Isn’t it? It’s your career. Your scenes are how you make a living. I’d think booking a repeat Sub is a good thing.”

Cas tilted his head back and forth. “Yeah. Just... since we’ve been talking about my family and their unknowing participation in financing my career... I guess I thought as a therapist you’d find that kind of manipulation unethical. Certainly not ‘wonderful’.”

“It’s interesting that you classify your own behavior as manipulative.”

“For lack of a better word,” Cas tacked on, and when the corner of Dean’s mouth twitched in the slightest he was tempted to reach across and smack the smug smirk off his face. That daydream veered into dangerous territory, where dream Dean appeared to enjoy it, and Cas gave his head a hard shake to dispel the fantasy before he popped a boner two feet in front of his very hot therapist like a hormonal teenager.

“It’s uncommon for a patient to refer to  _ themselves _ as manipulative. Typically it’s a word I hear my patients describe others as… a manipulative significant other or family member helping to cause the issue my clients see me for. I often hear the word in this line of work in combination with narcissism- they  _ do  _ tend to go hand in hand- or rather, manipulation is a symptom of narcissism-”

“Are you calling  _ me _ a narcissist?” Cas snapped.

“Do  _ you _ think you are?”

Cas leaned forward in his chair, fixing Dean with an icy stare, jaw clenched...but he didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

  
Dean barely missed a beat. “Let’s move on. I can see this is something you’ll need a little more time for before we talk about it.” He cleared his throat and absently scratched at a stubbled cheek, flipping to a new page in his pad. “Okay, let’s see...still journaling?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Continue to do that. Write down anything you think may be important, including any feelings you’ve had come up while discussing things with me-”

_ Probably best not to take that one too literally. _

“-and I want you to be thinking about your answers to the questions we stalled on as well, and we can discuss during your next visit. Sound good?”

“Sounds...achievable.”

“Awesome.” 

When their session was over,  Dean plopped the pad face down on the coffee table and tossed his pen on top, pushing himself up from the chair and making a beeline for the dessert bag Cas had brought. He half-leaned, half-sat on the edge of the front of his desk, the bag across his lap as he pulled out the small styrofoam container containing the pie. “Oh, man. I love blueberry.”

Cas tried to stop the involuntary smile from giving him away, but failed. Luckily Dean was so busy getting to his pie that he hadn’t looked up to see it. He opened the container and took a bite, pushing glaze and crumbs from his lip into his mouth and sucking the digit clean afterward. Like the first time he’d ever met him, Cas vaguely considered the behavior disgusting- the thought pushed quickly to the back of his mind at the stir of his cock caused by the sight of the man’s lips wrapped around his own finger. 

“Blueberry is one of their most popular. I took a guess.”

Dean made a fairly pornographic sound in the back of his throat at his second bite, and Cas cleared his throat as he stood and straightened his sweater. 

“Mmm,” Dean exclaimed, “I think my favorite may be cherry? But blueberry is a close second.”

“They have cherry too,” Cas said quickly, giving his collar a tug. He shoved his hands in his pockets- an action that felt displaced. “Listen, they’re right around the corner and I go there a couple of times a week. What time do you get off?”

Dean froze mid-bite and lowered his fork back to the container, a sympathetic smile on his face. “Hey, look...you seem like a perfectly nice guy, Cas, but it would be highly unethical of me to be seen out with one of my clients.”

“N- no, I just meant- I mean, I was just asking, um.” Cas took a moment to compose himself, brow furrowed, not meeting Dean’s eyes even though he could feel the man staring at him. “I was just thinking I could show you the place, you could order that cherry pie…”

Dean’s smile widened slightly as Cas trailed off. “Well, that’s very kind of you. But if it’s around the corner I don’t think I’ll have too much trouble finding it myself.”

Cas gritted his teeth. “Sure.” He turned to leave and stopped, looking back at Dean. “I didn’t mean for a date. Just friends having coffee.”

Dean looked like he wanted to say something but just the small smile remained in place, something akin to fondness in his eyes. Cas cleared his throat again and nodded.

“Right, well...I’ll just go schedule with Bela.”

No words were spoken as he took his leave, drifting mindlessly over to Bela’s desk to make his next appointment. He found himself thinking as he left that this very well may be the first time he’s ever been outright rejected before, and wondering if all the signs he thought he saw were just in his imagination. Maybe his stories didn’t make Dean squirm. Maybe he wasn’t overly fascinated in his sex life because he longed to be a part of it. Maybe it _ was _ just plain old therapy.

“See ya, Cas!” Dean called from his doorway, prompting Cas to freeze with a hand on the door and give an awkward wave. His cheeks were hot as he ducked into the street, the image of Dean grinning after him burned into his brain; an image he knew would crop up as a vicious taunt of his unfortunately mounting feelings for the therapist.

He’d made it nearly a block when he heard his name and the heavy thud of boots against a cement sidewalk. He turned to see Dean throw up a hand in acknowledgement as he jogged to him, so Cas waited with his hands in his pockets, heart hammering away in his chest. 

Dean’s breathlessness succeeded in reminding Cas was a gorgeous set of teeth the man had and drawing his attention to the stretch of his jeans over thigh muscle as he bent over momentarily to catch his breath. He’d deal with his twitching cock later- right now, all he cared about was whatever words might come out of Dean’s mouth.

“I actually need your help.” 

Cas raised a brow. “Oh?”

When he’d composed himself, Dean swallowed hard and crossed his arms protectively over his chest. “Bela is designing me a new website and she’ll be running all of my social media accounts- or rather, the accounts she says I’ll have- and I really need some design work done.”

Cas floundered only momentarily, tilting his head and clearing his throat. “Oh. Right.”

“She’s got a lot of good ideas and the only job she gave me was to find an artist, so-”

“So you figured you’d just ask the last one you spoke to.”

Dean had the nerve to look sheepish. “The only one I’ve spoken to, more like.”

Cas narrowed his eyes and licked his lips quickly, taking a moment to take in their surroundings and breathe in a whiff of crisp air; unwilling to answer ‘yes’ so completely lest he look desperate for the man’s attention.

“Forget it, this is so unprofessional,” Dean scoffed and shook his head, waving Cas off. “Sorry I asked. The last thing you want is feeling like your therapist is forcing you into a job you don’t want.”

Cas laughed at that. “Believe me, Dean...there’s nothing you could say that could  _ force  _ me to do anything.”

The subsequent glint in Dean’s eye might’ve suggested that he was up to the challenge, or it might’ve been a complete figment of Castiel’s imagination. Either way, Dean nodded and stuck out a hand. Cas took it, surprised to find a not entirely unwelcome roughness to it- not the sort of skin you’d expect from a man whose career kept him in an office five days a week.

“My last client is tomorrow at 5:30. Can we meet after?”

Cas made himself answer more slowly than his excitement preferred. “Nino’s?”

“Awesome.” Dean’s grin was breathtakingly mischievous- his expression matched the fluttering giddiness in Cas’s chest. “See you then.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fun stuff coming up ;)

Okay, this was stupid.

Castiel growled at his reflection and ripped off yet another shirt, sending it flying as he marched back to his closet. He glared at the wall of shirts before him, hands on his bare hips, and tried to tell himself what he wore didn’t even matter. It was a casual business meeting, if one could even call it that. And it certainly wasn’t a date. 

So why he was spending 20 minutes picking out a damn shirt was beyond him. 

He finally pulled a dark blue button-up off its rack and shrugged it on without another thought, mindlessly buttoning on his way to the bathroom. 

His hair was a goddamn mess and refused to lie flat no matter how much water he tried to slick it down with, so he gave up, narrowing his eyes at the stubborn waves sticking out here and there. He shaved and patted on some aftershave, then brushed his teeth as he slipped on his shoes and socks. 

When all was said and done, he looked in the mirror, mostly pleased with the image reflected back. He gave his hair one last attempt at casual dishevelment, threw on a light sport coat, and left.

Nino’s was only a short walk from his condo, so even though Cas took his time, he arrived a good ten minutes before their scheduled time. He considered the idea that Nino’s was far more convenient to him than it may have been for Dean, kicked himself for the oversight, and resigned himself to picking up the tab to make up for the potential transportation money Dean shouldn’t have had to spend. He was still considering the hypothetical when Dean rounded the corner, looking...very nice, yet somehow still managing consistency in his apparent army surplus wardrobe. His jeans were a worn denim, matched with a plain black t-shirt, a pair of old brown oxford boots that looked like they’d probably seen a couple generations of Winchester, and an oversized brown leather jacket Cas could also deduce was a hand-me-down based on the wear and soft creases. 

Dean threw up a hand in acknowledgement, followed by a smile that had Cas smiling and waving back before he realized what he was doing. He frowned and dropped his hand, clearing his throat- and hopefully, his head along with it- as Dean approached.

“Hey, am I late?” Dean asked a little breathlessly, eyebrows raised...looking genuinely concerned. Cas quickly shook his head.

“No. I’m just always early,” Cas said a little too freely, then shook his head and stuck out a hand. “Good to see you, Dean.”

Dean gave him a puzzled look but chuckled and pointedly shook his hand. “Good to see you too, Cas. Shall we-?”

Nino’s was a little less crowded than normal; that said, they snagged one of only two available, clean tables, and awkwardly bickered over which of them would order the coffee. Ultimately Cas stood in line with both their orders in mind as Dean sat at their table, looking wildly out of place. Cas found himself actively having to avert his eyes from Dean’s direction after the first time the man caught him staring and gave him a forced smile. 

Cas placed their order and after a few minutes- and an embarrassingly pathetic attempt at the pronunciation of Castiel’s name- he made his way back to their table with his Americano and marjolaine and Dean’s house blend and chocolate croissant.

“What is  _ that? _ ” Dean asked as he sat, his eyes wide and fixed on Cas’s plate.

Cas smiled. “Marjolaine. It’s made with hazelnut dacquiose- French-”

“No need for the pretentious bullshit with me, yeah?” Dean cut in. “I know you a little better than you think I do. And I think  _ you  _ know that I have no idea what a d-duck-”

“Dacquiose.”

“Right, what  _ that _ , is.” Dean waved a hand and took a long sip of his coffee. Unbothered. Unembarrassed. Cas really wasn’t going to impress this guy with his job, or his money, or his worldly knowledge.

Not that it  _ mattered _ , he reminded himself. And not that he  _ wanted _ to, anyway.

“My apologies,” Cas offered, tapping a finger against the lid of his cup. “Marjolaine is a French hazelnut cake with layers of vanilla, praline, and chocolate buttercream. With chocolate ganache drizzled on top.”

“Now,  _ that _ I understand,” Dean smiled, and Cas found himself relaxing, despite Dean’s energy never wavering from something resembling amusement. “Well, it looks awesome.”

Cas slid his plate forward. “You can try a bite if you want.”

Dean seemed to consider it, if only a split second. “No...no, thank you. That’s alright.”

Cas nodded and pulled his plate back, then raised his cup to his lips. Dean smiled at him over the top of his own cup and Cas accidentally took too big of a sip, scalding his tongue in the process. He narrowed his eyes but otherwise managed to keep his face from betraying the pain, then stubbornly took another sip, ignoring the intense burn.

“So, uh, like I said, I’ve never done this before-”

“You haven’t?”

Dean raised a brow at him. “No...I haven’t-”

“So you really aren’t allowed to date your patients.”

“I- uh, no, ethically speaking, I should not date my patients. But, um. I was...talking about the ‘hiring a graphic designer’ bit…”

Cas blinked. “Yeah. Of course.”

Dean smiled again, revealing a row of straight white teeth. Cas couldn’t decide if he was adorable or provocative. 

Dean took a sip of his drink, his eyes darting around the place, and Cas allowed himself to believe that the man was a bit nervous. Not because he’d never hired a graphic designer, but perhaps because he was having a hard time separating Cas as a patient from Cas on their “not date”.

Cas took the first bite of his marjolaine, humming subtly around his fork as the silky textures of the ganache and buttercream coated his tongue.

“So,” Dean cleared his throat, rapping his knuckles on the table. “How, uh, is this...done?”

So it seemed Cas wasn’t the only one feeling a bit awkward. He swallowed his bite of cake and wiped his mouth on a napkin. “It’s not a drug deal, Dean,” he smiled, resisting the urge to comment on Dean’s blush. “But to answer your question, it isn’t anything difficult. I’m a freelancer, so you don’t have to go through any company.”

Dean raised a brow. “Is going through a company much different?”

Cas shrugged. “Depends. A designer would have to deal with company standards, logistics, budget restrictions, creative restrictions. For a potential client, you would maybe have to deal with extra fees and a team of designers rather than a one on one experience.”

“So no hidden labor fees?” Dean quipped, the corner of his lips lifting into a smirk.

Cas smirked back and shrugged. “Not at all. Given my degree and experience, I usually charge my clients upwards of $200 an hour. However, seeing as you’re my therapist and helping me out, I am more than happy to give you a discount.”

Dean frowned and promptly shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t feel right about that. I don’t mind paying an artist for his work.”

Cas eyed Dean for a moment, feeling his chest flutter for no apparent reason, and nodded. “Alright then. Do you have any kind of website set up now?”

Dean huffed and smiled abashedly. “Uh, not really. I’m not what you’d call tech savvy. My business has basically been word of mouth, a few handouts at local colleges…”

“Logo?”

Dean just shrugged and shook his head again.

“So what you’re telling me is you’re a complete virgin?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Dean said with a nod, sitting his cup down to spin it idly against the tabletop. “You know, if we were in therapy right now I might be asking you why you always divert to sex when you’re the least bit uncomfortable. Is it because it’s your personal comfort zone? Or perhaps because in making others uncomfortable, they won’t continue to pry, therefore rendering them unable to form a personal connection with you.”

Cas swallowed his slightly less scorching sip of coffee with an audible  _ gulp. _

Dean gave him a quick smile, then tapped a finger against the table. “But we’re not in therapy, so I guess I’ll just tell you that this business page design stuff ain’t my bag, which is why I’m hiring you. And I trust you’ll have good judgement on what it is I may need.”

The urge to quip back was strong, but Cas fought it. He smiled this time, shrugging. “It’s no problem. We can figure it out together.”

The hum of the bakery closed in on them to occupy their moment of silence. Dean took a sip of his coffee and pursed his lips, releasing a small “ _ ahhh”  _ afterward, but Cas’s eyes were still following the liquid, past full lips into a gorgeous mouth...past the quiver of his Adam’s apple…

He’d just begun imagining the planes of muscle that must continue under the shirt when Dean spoke, breaking Cas’s trance.

“I know what you’re doing.”

Of course he was staring at Cas as he raised his eyes from Dean’s collarbone, regardless of Cas’s attempted nonchalance. 

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Listen,” Dean clasped his hands together on top of the table and leaned in. “I’m very sorry to tell you this, but I’m not going to suddenly run out of money and have to find some other way to pay you for our business transaction.”

The quip took a second for Cas to register, and then Dean was smiling  _ that smile  _ and actually  _ laughing _ \- which was when Cas realized his mouth was practically hanging open. He forced a laugh and felt his face go red, so he scrubbed both hands over it and sat back in his seat, letting his them fall to his lap.

“That was good, I’ll give you that, doctor,” Cas said, shaking his head. “But a guy can dream, right?”

Dean licked his lips as his smile faded. “I suppose there’s no harm in that. Therapeutically speaking.”

“And ethically speaking?”

Dean’s mouth quirked in the corner. “I think perhaps a bit more unethical on my end than it would be on yours.”

“Huh.”

“Patient and therapist fantasies are actually quite common.”

“You don’t say.”

“For the patient.”

“Ah.”

Dean pressed his lips together and nodded, drumming fingers against his cup. Cas might’ve imagined the way Dean’s eyes drifted over his body or how he raked his teeth over his bottom lip, because it was all gone as quickly as it’d come.

“Anyhow,” Cas said finally, waving a hand, “I’ll call Bela for her ideas, go ahead and work something up and give you a call when I have a project outline. Then we’ll get together, firm those plans up, and I’ll get started.”

Dean clicked his tongue as he tipped his head to the side. “Sounds like a plan.” He finally released his cup in favor of the croissant in front of him, and this time it was Cas’s turn to stare lasciviously as Dean tore off a piece of the bread  _ and looked directly at him  _ as he popped it into his mouth. Chewing slowly. 

Each of them daring the other to look away.

It was Cas that finally broke, the triumphant smirk afterward from Dean as he tore off another piece of bread being the only thing that clued Cas in to his awareness of the tension. Dean sucked a drop of chocolate off his thumb as he looked around the room.

“So, um,” Dean started with his mouth still a little full, motioning at the room around him by drawing a circle with his index finger, “this place. You live near here?”

“Mm, just around the corner,” Cas said easily, “Westlight.”

Dean looked impressed. “Westlight?”

Cas nodded.

“Well, shit. Didn’t know porn paid like that,” Dean said with a chuckle. “Maybe I’m in the wrong profession.”

“As a man with eyes and exceptional taste, I’m inclined to agree with you.”

Dean looked like he was prepared to respond, opened and closed his mouth once, and smiled, looking away as he raised his cup to his lips.

“Sorry. That was too forward,” Cas said, clearly not sorry at all. Dean’s eyes flitted back to him.

“Yes, it was.”

“Sometimes I forget myself,” Castiel shrugged, lifting his cup to his lips and taking a sip. “In my world, forward is usually best.”

Dean nodded slowly, looking thoughtful. “I can see that. For you and your...partners, everything needs to be out in the open. Clear with no guesswork.”

Cas nodded, lips twitching with a smile. “Exactly. And being a Dom…” he shrugged, easy and confident, “I’m used to getting what I want.”

Dean blinked and slowly returned the smile, and Cas liked to think there was a bit of heat in those green eyes. “I believe that.”

Cas tapped a finger on the table and leaned back in his chair. “Can I ask you something?”

Dean shrugged. “Sure. I may not answer, though.”

“Why did you become a therapist?”

Dean’s eyes widened, clearly not expecting that. “I...well.”

Cas smirked and scratched on his cheek. “I only ask because...well, you just don’t look like a therapist. Or even really act like one.”

Dean tilted his head. “How many therapists do you know to fall back on that assumption?”

“None, admittedly.”

Dean nodded, seemingly in understanding, and sighed as he rubbed at the light stubble on his chin. “I dunno,” he finally said after a long moment. “I was a little messed up for a while. Looking back now, I wouldn’t have guessed this is what I would’ve done. I thought for sure I’d end up working behind a bar or maybe in a garage.”

“So how did you end up here?”

Dean ran his tongue over his lips and Cas tried not to trace the movement. He failed miserably.

“I was sort of forced into therapy,” Dean huffed a small laugh. “And as much as I fought it, I came out the other end all the better for it. And I guess the rest is history. I took a few classes and realized I sort of had a knack for it. I wanted to help people find their own happy, no matter what that looked like.”

Cas smiled and he felt his chest tighten, a somewhat uncomfortable feeling. “Far more admirable than porn.”

Dean shrugged, perhaps even looking a little bashful. “Everyone has their purpose. What you do is porn, yes, but from what I understand, you help your clients. You could say what you do is a form of therapy.”

“Except for the glaring fact that I’m paying you a hundred bucks an hour to tell me exactly why I’m making my clients  _ unhappy _ .” 

“So your methods need some fine-tuning. I’ll do what I can to help rectify that, then you’ll go back to taking care of your clients the way you mean to. We are allowed missteps in life.” 

Cas nodded and sat back in his chair, licking his dry lips. This time, Dean’s eyes flitted briefly to them- if Cas had blinked, he’d have missed it.

“I have a follow- up question if you’ll allow, Dr. Winchester.”

Dean’s eyebrow ticked up and he smirked. Cas pointedly hid his smugness.

“You said you were forced into therapy.” 

Dean’s face immediately changed, somehow darkened, but he pressed his lips together and swallowed, his eyes briefly falling from Cas’s gaze. Cas watched him closely, eyes narrowed curiously, and tilted his head to the side.

“May I ask why?”

“No,” Dean said bluntly, his voice hard. “Sorry. It’s just...I don’t discuss things about my personal life with my clients, Castiel.”

Something about the way his full name rolled off of Dean’s tongue had a thousand different images flashing through Castiel’s mind, none of them appropriate. All of them blasphemous. At the same time Cas imagined himself pushing Dean’s body up against a wall with the mission of making him come, the look on Dean’s face forced him to imagine instead what it would be like to be the one to simply make him smile. 

“My apologies,” Cas said sincerely. “I truly didn’t intend to offend you.”

“No offense taken,” Dean waved him off, instantly less tense. “It’s just...bit of a conflict of interest, that’s all. It’s not your job to therapize me.”

“This isn’t therapy,” Cas pointed out with a small smile, gesturing to his cake. “It’s a business meeting. Between friends.”

“Right.”

“What if I saw another therapist?” Cas found himself asking suddenly, taking even Dean by surprise, his cup frozen at his lips.

“You’re asking your therapist if you think you should see another therapist?”

“No, I mean,” Cas groaned softly as he leaned forward again, placing his cup back down on the table, “if I wasn’t your patient, if I saw someone else instead...could we be friends then? Could you talk to me then?”

Dean smirked as he took another sip of his coffee. “In theory? Yes. But in actuality, I think that you’re exactly where you need to be. If you don’t mind  _ me _ being so forward.”

“So you don’t want to be friends with me?” Cas challenged, holding back a smile.

Dean chuckled and shook his head in exasperation, rolling his eyes, his cup still raised to his lips. “I don’t want to lose you as a patient.”

“But surely you have plenty of patients-”

“I have plenty of  _ friends _ .”

Cas raised a brow but grinned. “I’m sure you do.”

Dean cleared his throat and looked down at his cup. 

“Alright, well,” Cas said suddenly, a too-little, too-late attempt at saving himself embarrassment, “we should go ahead and plan for another meeting, outside of therapy. Since we’re not friends and I can’t call you instead.”

Dean gave him a challenging glare, but there was no heat behind it. With a sigh, he sat his cup down and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. He pulled out a small business card and flipped it over, and with a pen he pulled from his pocket, scribbled something on the back.

“My personal number,” Dean said as he slid the card across the table, his eyes meeting Cas’s. “If you have questions, call me.”

“Excellent.”

“ _ Only _ ,” Dean emphasized, “if you have questions. About  _ this _ .”

Cas smiled innocently. “Of course.”

~*~

Giving Castiel his personal number had probably been a stupid move. To the man’s credit, the only communication Dean had gotten since then was a simple ‘This is Cas’ text so that he’d have the number on his phone. It’d been nearly a week and there have been no ambiguous texts, no weird calls, not even a flirty emoji. 

Dean was relieved and oddly disappointed by that.

It was two days before his next appointment with Castiel and Dean found himself increasingly anxious. The man was becoming a complicated part of Dean's life, one that he was reluctant to shake off. Truly, he wanted to keep Cas as a patient. He wanted to help him achieve some happiness because Dean could plainly see that he wasn’t. He wanted to help Cas enjoy his work again. But the man was testing Dean’s normally ironclad integrity and it was shaking him to the core.

Dean has had plenty of patients, many of whom were attractive in their own ways. None of whom, though, challenged him like Cas did. Patients have flirted, asked him out, one even bold enough to send risque photos in the mail. All of these attempts Dean had softly but firmly turned down, no hesitation, no struggle.

And now here he was, going on “business meetings” and giving out his personal number. 

Not only that, but his fingers were flying across the keyboard, quickly bringing up the Angels and Demons website once again. Finding Castiel’s videos, scrolling, his eyes glued to the screen. 

Castiel’s small, not-so-innocent probes and looks at the meeting had done a number on Dean. Those piercing eyes, that deep voice, those damn lips. It all had his blood pumping, his mind supplying fantasies that he previously had never considered before. Initially, Dean had been curious about this BDSM world, but it was starting to border on obsession. Ever since their first session, Dean began researching. The lingo, the equipment, the rules, the places, the people, the different tastes and scenes. Blogs, websites, podcasts-anything that offered up information, Dean found it and explored it. Castiel’s name popped up many times and it turned out he was a big figure in this little niche. Famous, if one could call it that. He had fans, followers, fucking  _ wait lists _ to be one of his Subs.

And Dean wasn’t stupid. The temptation of Cas’s number in his phone was almost too much, knowing that a simple call or text would get him what he  _ really _ wants, yet can’t have. Cas wanted him and he wasn’t making it easy on either of them...not that Dean would let him see it.

If he could help it. 

But the videos weren’t so bad, so he convinced himself. It may not be  _ technically  _ morally right, sure, but it was better than giving in to what he really wanted. And even more frustrating, Dean couldn’t seem to fully focus on the videos the way he  _ wanted _ to, because he found himself so often analyzing every little movement of Cas’s, every expression, every nuance in his performances. When he’d tried to watch them for research, he couldn’t make himself focus. And now when he’s just trying to get off, he can’t stop working.

While Cas was warming up to him more each session, he was still quite vague with his therapy. He still seemed largely more interested in winning Dean’s favor than actually working through his issues, which Dean still wasn’t sure he fully believed he had. He had the feeling that he could get Cas to be more transparent if  _ he  _ would open up to him, let Cas ask him the questions he wants so he can do the same. Would it be worth it to get an answer?

He wasn’t so sure.

And God knows the last thing he needs in his life is another complication. Another heartbreak. Another abandonment. Another reason to hate himself. The danger in Cas was never sleeping with him; no, no, it was much worse than that.

Not to mention the man was turning him into a very unprofessional therapist. Dean had always prided himself in keeping patients at a distance. It could be difficult, especially being in his position. He heard their fears, hopes, dreams. Patients were vulnerable with him. They shared their interests with him, told him their darkest secrets. Keeping his own feelings in check could be a challenge, but it had never been a problem before now.

His sex drive was at an all time high too. It was no secret to those who knew him that Dean had been a bit of a wild card when he was younger. Sex had been a very effective way to distract himself. A coping mechanism that took a while to wean off from. Keeping it in his pants when it came to his patients was not only the crowning rule, it went as far back as his own therapy days.

Yet here he is, sitting at his computer with his hand cupping his erection as he eagerly scanned over the dozens of videos featuring this enigmatic Dom. Dean wanted to close his laptop, he tried desperately to pry himself away from the screen, but he couldn’t. Cas fascinated him; this world fascinated him. He was falling deeper into it, so much so that he found that he was...curious. Enough to try it. Enough to look up local BDSM clubs and think about registering as a new member.

Dom or Sub? It had asked. Switch?

Dean had no fucking idea, and he had stopped there. 

So he watched Cas tie a boy up to a giant X. Watched him blindfold the Sub. Watched him flog and slap and fuck. His hand squeezing and stroking his dick, breath coming quick, a desperate gasp escaping as he came all over his hand.

God, he was so fucked.

His phone rang and Dean practically jumped out of his skin, pulling a face at his sticky hand as he flipped his phone open with the other.

“Dean Winchester,” he said by way of greeting as he pulled several tissues from the box on his chest of drawers. 

“Dean, hey.” 

Sam’s voice is always a welcome reprieve after a long work week, especially when he stays so busy and Dean often finds himself missing his little brother. He tried not to think about the uncomfortable overlap of his previous self session and his brother calling, even as he cleaned the mess off his hand.

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean said cheerily, tossing the tissue in the trash on his way to the sink. “You doin’ alright?”

“Yeah, I’m good, but listen- I only have a couple of minutes before my next case, and Eileen wanted to know if you’re coming for Christmas dinner? I told her you said you might not this year, y’know...but she needs to know how many places to set, how much food to make…”

“It’s the same group it always is, yeah?” Dean grunted, wrinkling his nose as he ran his sticky hands under warm water, scrubbing a little obsessively. “Put me down for one.”

“O-oh.”

Dean frowned. “What? What’s ‘oh’?”

“Okay, don’t get mad.”

Dean shut off the water, the phone pressed between his shoulder and ear, and frowned at himself in the mirror as he dried his hands. “Not a great start, Sammy.”

Sam sighed, sounding tired even through the phone. His new job, coupled with a pregnant wife, had him working a lot harder and, obviously, sleeping a lot less.

“Well...it’s Lisa. She and Ben were going to be having Thanksgiving alone so Eileen invited her to join us-”

“Oh,  _ Sam _ -”

“I know, I’m sorry, it’s just...I mean, you knew they were friends when you dated her, Dean.”

It was true. Dean only had himself to blame for having to awkwardly face the ex at Christmas dinner- after the relationship ended on less than good terms- because Dean had shamelessly flirted his way into a reluctant relationship with her despite Sam’s vocal opposition. Damn him and his alway wanting what he knows he can’t have.

“Fine,” Dean groaned, head falling back in defeat. “I can handle it. I’ll come.”

“You sure?”

“...yeah.”

“Okay, I’ll let Eileen know. Hey, maybe you’ll get lucky and she’ll bring a date. Keep some of the heat off you, anyway.”

“Well maybe I’ll bring a date,” Dean supplied, but Sam actually  _ laughed _ through the line- a genuine laugh, too, not one of his obligatory filler chuckles he often offered when he wasn’t providing his full attention. “What?”

“Okay, Dean. I’ll see you at Christmas with your date,” Sam said, barely bothering to suppress the sarcastic disbelief. “Do they have any dietary restrictions we should be aware of?”

“I could bring a date,” Dean insisted, but Sam was already laughing.

“Yeah, well considering Lisa is the only girlfriend of yours that I’ve actually spent substantial time with, pardon me for assuming you would continue the tradition of  _ not  _ bringing someone home.”

“Maybe I’ll just bring her a date in case she doesn’t have one so I don’t have to be on the receiving end of her death glare all night,” Dean grunted, plopping down on his couch. 

“Can’t say you don’t deserve it.”

“Well, you’re not wrong.”

“So  _ are _ you seeing anyone?”

Dean groaned and tilted his head back, eyes closed as he silently counted to ten. “Sam, seriously,” he huffed, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re worse than a nosy mom. You know the only  _ anyone _ I see on the regular are my patients. Whom I cannot discuss-”

“Whom?”

“Therefore this topic is pretty much a dead end.”

“You know your sarcasm just  _ drips _ off when you use grown-up words, right?”

“Part of my charm,” Dean grumbled. “Look, I know you mean well, but every time you call you always ask about my love life. Honestly, Sammy, with my job the last thing I wanna do is come home to someone and navigate a relationship. It’s part of the reason Lisa and I never worked. She always wanted to  _ talk _ about shit, not caring I just spent 10 hours doing just that.”

“Talking in a relationship is usually considered healthy, Dean,” Sam snorted. “As a therapist, you should know that.”  
“Exactly,” Dean quipped. “I spend all day talking about relationships, Sam. I don’t wanna be a therapist at home too.”

“Maybe you just haven’t found the person worth therapizing yourself over.”

“Maybe I’m not lookin’.”

“You know, if you were your own patient, you’d ask why you aren’t looking.”

“Goodbye, Sammy.” Dean hung up before Sam could respond and sighed as he threw his phone onto the couch. He loved his brother, but sometimes Sam was more lawyer than brother when they talked. Always sticking his nose in crap that wasn’t his business. And yeah, maybe his therapy training would question why he couldn’t maintain a relationship and why he had stopped looking for one. But Dean left therapy at the office where it belonged. Besides, it’s not like he had time to date. He barely had time for the occasional hookups he managed to find. 

And then there was Castiel, a complication that Dean was absolutely not ready to discuss with himself, let alone Sam. 

His lifestyle though...it was something Dean could definitely stand to at least learn a bit more about, for research if nothing else. 

He’d done a great job of leaving his therapy in the office when it came to himself, and so it stood to reason he should’ve felt confident in his ability to keep his frivolous sexual desires  _ out  _ of the office. Even still, he knew it was tempting fate by researching this stuff while continuing to insist on seeing Cas, despite their obvious attraction to each other.

An attraction he absolutely should  _ not  _ be supplying with graphic visuals of his own volition- it would cause him  _ physical pain  _ to try to suppress an erection during a session, especially with Cas very obviously playing into the chemistry they both know is there. 

Then again, it’d become pretty clear to him throughout his time counseling members of the BDSM community- and through his own research- that he liked the notion of a little pain.

_ God,  _ he hadn’t been fucked in  _ years _ ...maybe fresh out of high school? In his more recent same-sex trysts, he’d always been the one  _ doing _ the fucking, and he never hung around long enough to have the conversation about switching. Not for lack of enjoyment, but rather, lack of trust. 

But even then, he never remembered being so hard up for a good fucking that he  _ actively  _ desired it. Not like this. 

Dean flopped face down on his bed and prayed for sleep to take him, for no other reason than to save him from himself.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again unbeta'd because life is crazy... this chapter has been done for over a week and I'm just now getting the time to post it, even without editing.
> 
> We hope you enjoy!

He should slap himself, because there’s no way Dean Winchester actually got into his beloved car and drove nearly two hours to Cambridge to attend a sex party.

Absolutely no way.

Dean’s mouth hung open slightly as he looked up at the massive building meant to house the party he’d previously RSVP’d to- he’d embarrassingly had to ask one of his own patients for the invitation itself, with their promised discretion- and he had a difficult time connecting what he knew of this world through porn videos to what he’d read online. Even more so, he couldn’t imagine the rooms in this sleek building with all its steel and glass being anything like the dark, dank confines of the dungeon-like rooms featured in the videos he’d binged. 

He cleared his throat, pulled at the collar of his t-shirt, and headed for the door. 

Dean silently made his way to the back of the line of people waiting to get in. He stood apart from the others, hoping not to draw too much attention. He eyed the crowd and immediately felt out of place and underdressed. Just about everyone was wearing some form of leather, straps, belts, chains, mesh, all revealing just enough to tease but not too much to give away the prize.

Dean licked his lips and glanced down at his invitation. Technically he was just a visitor, a prospect, a mere observer of tonight’s events. Clearly marked on his invitation, he would not be permitted to participate in any “play”, as they called it, and he would be given a special wristband to tell others he was off limits. So dressing up had seemed a bit fruitless, and also Dean had very little to wear when it came to this sort of thing. His only leather apparel was an old jacket he’d inherited from his dad. And he certainly didn’t have harnesses or...thongs, as the gentleman in front of him had. 

Not that he’d been, y’know... _ looking. _

Even still, his standard flannel and henley probably wasn’t the wisest of choices. But they were comfortable- and, well,  _ him-  _ and he wanted to be comfortable if he was going to put himself in a situation he was unfamiliar with. 

When he reached the door, a big man with surprisingly kind eyes checked over his invitation and nodded. He indicated for Dean to hold out his wrist and wrapped a red wristband around it.

“All set, cher,” the man said in what Dean instantly recognized as a Louisian drawl. “That should keep the hounds off ya, but if you have any problems just come to me. Name’s Benny. No participatin’, just watchin’, and have a good time.”

Dean swallowed and nodded before he stepped inside, blinking as he took in a completely new world. It was both not what he expected at all and exactly what he thought he’d see. Dean had dramatically imagined a huge dungeon, chains and whips and hot wax dripping. A bit medieval, but he was ignorant. What he got was something between a nightclub, a dinner party, and yes a little dungeon theme mixed in.

Everyone was mingling in the lobby, a mixture of red wristbands and seasoned members talking and laughing, casually standing around having drinks as if the bulk of them weren’t in some sort of lingerie or wearing thick collars. It was an entirely different world, so understood here yet completely foreign to people like Dean, and even more so to others who never took the time to properly learn about it at all.

“First time, huh?” 

Dean whipped around, immediately taking in an eyeful of a chesty redhead with a bright smile. She wore all black, lace stockings held up by suspenders connected to a crushed velvet corset, complete with heels and gloves. Her smile was friendly, if not a little intimidating, and so Dean smiled in return, nodding.

“Uh...yeah. First time.” He chewed his lip. “That obvious?”

“Little bit,” the woman said teasingly, then stuck out a hand. “I’m Abby. Abaddon, but...friends call me Abby.”

“Dean.”

“So, Dean,” Abby started, nodding to one of the standing tables. She gestured to one of the servers. “How’d you end up here?”

“Uh,” Dean said eloquently, licking his lips as he continued to take in the room. “Well, I dunno...do I need a reason?”

Abby shrugged. “Most of us usually have them.”

“Right. Daddy issues, that sort of thing?”

“For some, certainly. Is that your issue?”

Dean snorted and looked at his watch. “I don’t think we’ve got time to get into all that right now.”

“Suit yourself,” Abby said, smiling to their server as he dropped off a couple of glasses with more of whatever liquor she’d been previously drinking. Whiskey, by the smell of it. Dean took a sip and  _ ahh’d _ , staring down into his glass. 

“Well, then...I suppose you’ll be staying for the shows.”

Dean raised his gaze to her and then back down to his glass, nodding again. “Yeah. But I’m not, uh...not really sure how any of this is supposed to work.”

Abby laughed. “Which part?”

He cleared his throat, searching for an answer. “I...don’t know.”

“Okay...well let’s start with the simple stuff. What are you into? Interested in Subbing, Domming? Vers?” It all seemed to come so naturally to Abby, not even the smallest hint of shame.

“Again, I-I’m not really sure. I like...I dunno, a lot of different things? I just...wanna kinda get a basic feel for all of it tonight.” Dean couldn’t meet her eyes, but he was proud of himself for holding his embarrassment at bay. “I’m just here to watch anyway, right?”

“Well, yes, but there are different rooms, different scenes,” Abby explained. “You can float in and out, but most people tend to go straight for their kinks.”

Dean licked his bottom lip, tasting whiskey, and shrugged. “I, uh, guess I don’t know what my kinks are.”

Abby’s face lit up and leaned toward him, smiling with a glint in her eyes. “Even better. There’s nothing like discovering something new about yourself, especially when it comes to sexuality. Like opening a little treasure chest you didn’t even know you had. Damn, I’m a little jealous now.”

Dean blinked, not understanding. “Yeah? Why?”

“Like I said, there’s nothing like it,” Abby shrugged. “It’s exciting and something you’ll never really feel again. Like reading a good story for the first time. I remember when I first got into this, I went through the same thing. It was thrilling, learning what I liked, what I wanted, and ultimately going after it.”

“Going after it,” Dean murmured, his mind inevitably straying to Castiel. “Huh, there’s a concept. Let me guess...Dom?”

Abby laughed and lifted her drink in salute. “You got it, sweety. It took a little while to figure out, but after some experimenting I finally decided being a Dom was best for me. I guess my point in all this is, don’t be overwhelmed. We all started exactly like you are, not knowing what the fuck we were doing. Just relax, have fun, and you’ll learn what you need to over time.”

Dean chuckled and they clinked their glasses before throwing the rest back. Abby clapped hers down on the table and patted Dean on the arm as she rounded it, pointing behind him.

“When you’re ready, party’s through there.”

Dean turned and leaned back against the table to watch her walk away until she disappeared through one of the sets of double doors she’d indicated. He ordered and quickly downed another two shots of something far too expensive, paid his tab, and followed her.

The change in atmosphere between the two rooms could be felt as soon as he crossed the threshold. The room led to what clearly used to be hallways of hotel rooms at some point, now converted for its current use. The walls were a dark gray with sconces lining them, and artsy black and white photos of all sorts of naked bodies were scattered intermittently throughout. Most of the doors were closed, but he could hear the occasional gasp or groan through them as he passed. He assumed a couple of the rooms to be more popular, at least for that moment, since their doors were open and a few stragglers who couldn’t comfortably fit inside were squeezed into the doorway, straining their necks to see the spectacle.

One of the doors opened just as he passed and he could see a couple inside, in what looked to be the early stages of their scene. There were only three or four other people inside to observe, all watching casually with drinks in their hands- it made Dean wish he’d brought his own with him. He slipped inside and closed the door behind him.

The girl had long flowing blonde hair down her back, and was only wearing an oversized white buttoned-up shirt- much like the ones Cas often wore, though he pushed the thought quickly back out of his head- and was gazing longingly up at who Dean  _ assumed _ was her Dom...or at least, her Dom for the night. 

_ His  _ back was currently to the rest of the room and its spectators, and he was leaned down talking to his Sub, low enough that only she could hear. After a beat she gave a small smile and nodded, and he reached out to hold her chin briefly, then stood. 

Dean found a dark corner to lean against and crossed his arms, feeling oddly embarrassed about being there. He felt as if the whole room was watching him, somehow knowing he didn’t belong. In reality, no one gave an ounce about the therapist in the corner. All attention was aimed at the couple on the platform. 

It seemed to be a suspension demonstration, given the equipment Dean spied. He’d seen a few videos with rope play and suspension, and his skin tingled when he imagined the rope sliding across his own skin. Seeing it in person would be a treat, not to mention a great learning experience. He briefly made a mental note to search for videos of Cas with suspension, then berated himself for trying to sink even further into the hole he was currently digging. 

The Dom introduced himself and his Sub before starting the scene. He picked out his rope and told her to disrobe. The shirt fell off, revealing her naked form. Dean swallowed and shifted on his feet, noting that the other onlookers were interested but otherwise unbothered by the show of skin. Of course; this was normal for them. 

The Dom skillfully tied a diamond pattern across her abdomen, wrapping around her breasts and making a natural thong. It was beautiful, arousing, live art. Dean momentarily forgot his newness and watched with rapt attention as she was slowly suspended on the platform, her form spread out so all could see her most intimate parts. By the time the scene was done, Dean was having to adjust himself in his jeans so he could walk out. He was flushed, hard as a rock, and already looking for another room. The whole night was going to a giant tease, no doubt leaving him in pain and desperate for release, but he found that he loved the idea.

He visited a couple more intriguing rooms: a dark-haired Dominatrix flogging a man wearing a latex mask, another Dom tickling his Sub with a feather, watching the boy squirm with twisted pleasure, another still splayed out on display to be edged by her Dom, wonderfully responsive to his every touch. It’d begun to become uncomfortable, walking around with a semi to complete hard-on (depending on which room he was in), and not being able to do a damn thing about it, so he resolved to visit one more room and call it a night.

He moved slowly down the hall and turned onto the next, intentionally avoiding all passing eyes so he could ignore the fact that tens of strangers were potentially getting an eyeful of his dick tented in his jeans. He heard a couple of soft  _ oohs  _ from one room he passed, and the next several doors were closed and mostly quiet. Toward the end of the hall, one of the rooms overflowed, at least 7 or 8 people standing outside, with room for probably 15 inside...if they didn’t mind being too close. Dean ventured a guess that most of them probably didn’t.

He carefully maneuvered himself through the group of people to get to the doorway, where he leaned in enough to barely see the two people performing through the crowd. Just skin, shapes, no faces-he’d once again chosen the spot with the shittiest angle to see the action. He groaned irritably, shifting between standing on his toes to see better and inching through the throng of people toward the front of the room.

He was halfway to the front when he caught the first glimpse of who he  _ knew _ , without a shadow of a doubt, was the scene’s Dom.

Castiel.

Fuck.  _ Fuckfuckfuckfuck- _

Dean tried to turn either direction to head back toward the hall, but so many people had crowded in around them it was all he could do not to be pushed closer to the front of the room. Cas hadn’t seen  _ him _ yet- thank god for small miracles- but it was only a matter of time if he didn’t get the  _ fuck  _ out of there, and fast.

Oh, but the scene before him was breathtaking. It seemed he had arrived in the thick of it. Castiel was...intense, his eyes locked onto his Sub, his skin gleaming with a slight sheen of sweat. His torso was bare, his pants hung low and those hip bones peaked out, making Dean’s mouth water. He held a flogger in his hand, the straps coming down again and again onto the naked ass of a man who was clearly enjoying it. The skin of his cheeks were a deep red and it was obvious Cas had been at it for a while. The Sub was counting, but Dean was hardly paying attention. He couldn’t stop watching Cas, his arm lifting, muscles stretching and clenching as he brought the flogger down. Just the sound of the leather slapping against skin had Dean’s cock twitching, the semi forming into a full hard-on in seconds. Dean couldn’t tell if he was reacting to the torture or Cas, but either way he absolutely had to leave.

“Want more?” Castiel growled out, pausing in his onslaught.

The sub whined, shaking his ass and nodded eagerly. “Yes, sir, please.”

“Don’t you dare fucking cum until I say you can.”

The flogger came down again and the man moaned, loud and unhinged. It was no performance. Dean could tell that he, these people, this room, none of it existed. All this Sub was aware of was the pain and his Dom. 

Dean shook his head and tried to back up, to slip through the crowd. His movements must have caused some commotion as the other onlookers tried to part for him while still watching the scene. Dean turned his head just in time to lock gazes with Cas and for a moment the whole world stopped. He froze, unsure of what to do. Castiel’s eyes widened a fraction, the only indication of any kind of reaction, before he returned his attention back to his Sub. 

Manners be damned, Dean pushed his way towards the door and out into the hallway. He took a moment to breathe, a hand leaning against the wall as he sucked in air. His mind was spinning, his cock was throbbing, and he decided he really needed a fucking drink.

He pressed a palm to his aching cock and awkwardly shuffled back down the hall, taking another minute at the doors to control his raging boner. Finally he pushed them open and headed for the bar, ordered 2 more whiskeys, and plopped down on a stool, letting out a heavy breath.

“First time?” the bartender asked as he poured Dean his double, raising a brow.

Dean scoffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What gave it away this time?”

“Only time I ever see anyone come out those doors lookin’ like you do right now...they’re newbies. Rest of ‘em? They’re used to it.”

“Right...” Dean eyed him, eyes falling to a name tag, “Inias. So what usually scares ‘em off?”

Inias shrugged. “Who’s to say? What brings ‘em here in the first place?”

“You know, you’d think I might have an idea.”

“S’pose we both should,” Inias sighed, turning back to put the bottle back on its shelf. “So what’d you see that spooked you? Something with hooks? Blood? Furries or feather play?”

“ _ God.” _

Inias chuckled as he pulled another bottle down from the shelf and poured himself a shot of something clear. He downed it, shaking his head as he placed the glass in the sink and replaced the bottle. “Nah, I think, more often than not, people think this is what they want, what they’re lookin’ for in their lives, then they get here and realize it ain’t anything like all the movies pretend it is. It’s  _ real.  _ And they’re not ready for it.”

“Sure, yeah.” Dean nodded, running his tongue over his teeth. “I, uh. Just ended up in the room of, um. I guess. Someone I’m...interested in.”

Inias lifted his head in understanding. “ _ Oh.  _ Did you not...know…?”

“No, I did, I just...I didn’t know he’d be... _ here.  _ Tonight. _ ”  _ Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s why I drove nearly 2 hours south to one of these things.”

Inias laughed. “Well, now that’s just shit luck.”

“And he’s one of my patients.”

“What?”

_ Fuck.  _ He’d already said too much, but he couldn’t stop.

“I’m a therapist, he’s one of my patients, and I am so royally  _ fucked.” _ He was slurring his words slightly by the end and didn’t even care, nor did he care about the look of amused horror on Inias’s face, or the fact that by the end of the night, he was going to have ordered probably 8-10 of those ridiculously expensive drinks, even knowing that his student loans are such that it’s not extra money he currently  _ has.  _

None of that mattered, because try as he did to avoid it, he  _ still  _ ended up seeing Cas tonight. And unfortunately- or was it fortunately? Cas saw him too...and that wasn’t exactly something he was likely to let slide at tomorrow’s session.

_ Tomorrow’s session. _

_ FUCK. _

“You look like someone just died,” Inais snorted.

“Yeah,” Dean groaned, face in his hands. “My dignity.”

~*~

Castiel stared at the door that led to Dean’s office, eyes trying in vain to bore holes into the wood. He sat in the small waiting room, arms crossed, leg bouncing, the tick of the clock on the wall grating on his nerves. He’d considered canceling this appointment, but the Dom in him refused to back down from a challenge. He had a need to be in control of things, obviously, and the only way to maintain control of this situation was to face it head on.

He’d sort of expected Dean to cancel, but no such luck. Castiel’s respect for Dean, already high, went up even more. After what happened last night, no one would blame the man for taking a day or two to process things. Cas himself was having a hard time wrapping his head around it. It had been clear neither expected to see each other at the party. 

Finishing the scene had been a challenge. It had probably been the hardest thing Cas had ever had to do.

Cas rolled his eyes at himself. Okay, that was a bit dramatic, but still. All he’d wanted to do in that moment was chase after Dean and...and what? What exactly had he done? That question was what kept Cas in that room, performing and giving the party goers what they came for. Cas had been afraid of what he’d do once he caught up to Dean. Afraid to break the tenuous friendship he had with the man.

Of course now he had no idea what he was about to walk into. 

The door opened and Dean stepped out, looking a bit worse for wear but still handsome and beautiful as ever. Dean cleared his throat and nodded to Cas, gesturing inside.

“I’m ready for you.”

Cas swallowed at the implications of those words and stood, straightening his shirt as he walked past Dean. He sat on the couch as Dean assumed his usual position behind his desk, hands clasped across the surface.

“You look tired,” Cas said before he could stop himself. It seemed he was going to poke the bear today. Sometimes his mouth was his worst enemy.

“Rough night,” Dean said gruffly, grabbing his pen and pad. “Did you bring your journal? I’d like to go over-”

“Oh, come on,” Cas snorted and crossed his arms, giving Dean a ‘are you fucking kidding me’ look. “Are we really going to ignore it? That can’t be healthy. As my therapist you should really know that.”

Dean glared at him. “We’re here to talk about  _ you.” _

“Yeah, yeah. And you know damn well that what happened last night has to do with  _ me _ , and is something I would want to- no, that  _ you  _ would  _ insist _ I talk about.” Cas raised a challenging brow. 

Dean lifted both hands just enough to let them fall back onto the table with a  _ thump.  _ “So what about it, huh? What do you want to talk about?”

“What were you doing there?”

“That’s not about you.”

“Mmmm,” Cas tilted his head back and forth. “Kinda is.”

“No, that’s me, and my own personal crap,” Dean snapped, taking Cas a bit by surprise. “If you want to talk about the scene, fine. Other than that, or other shit goin’ on in your life, I can’t help you. We’re not talkin’ about me.”

Cas sat back in his seat, eyes searching Dean’s face, every nuance in his expression, the way he refused to let his eyes meet Cas’s. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

They sat in silence for the next minute or so, until Dean finally moved just enough to glance at his watch.

“Fifty six minutes,” Cas said smugly, earning himself another death glare. It was weirdly unnerving, especially considering it was quite literally Cas’s job to make people squirm, and currently, Dean was doing a better job at it than him.

Another minute passed.

Then another.

Finally, Cas shifted in his seat, sighing. “Alright, fine. The scene was...enlightening.”

Dean seemed wary, but he nodded once. “Say more.”

“Well,” Cas paused, considering. “I worked with someone new last night. It’s not often they do that for parties, you know? ‘Specially for me. So,” he licked his lips, drawing his eyebrows together, “any session with any partner is a learning experience but...last night, I feel like I discovered something that, uh...may profoundly alter my techniques...moving forward.”

Dean stared at him, expression unreadable. He swallowed. “Meaning.”

Cas shrugged, shaking his head. “I’m not quite sure yet. It’s...a puzzle, you know? All of ‘em are. Sometimes pieces fit, sometimes they don’t. Just gotta keep tryin’ till you find the right one.”

“...right.”

“There was something else that happened,” Cas continued, throwing a leg over the other. “I saw someone I didn’t expect to see-”

“Cas…” Dean warned, his gaze hard.

Castiel shrugged innocently, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “This is about me. I thought that’s what I was here to talk about.”

Dean closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, frustration and sleep deprivation clearly written on his face. Cas found the whole thing amusing and fascinating.

“Fine,” Dean relented, waving his hand at Cas. “Keep going.”

“As I was saying,” Cas bit back a smirk, “I saw someone. Normally this would not be an issue. I’ve performed at parties many times, when my filming schedule allows. I’m a professional; having an audience has never made a difference in my performance before.”

Dean frowned and despite his reserve, seemed interested. “But it did this time?”

“Oh yes,” Cas mirrored Dean’s frown. “It was...fascinating and extremely frustrating. I pride myself in giving my Subs my full attention during sessions. Even with an audience, despite any commotion. It’s a party, people drinking, things happen. But last night, I saw this person and I...became distracted. Something that has never happened to me before.”

Dean stared at Cas for a beat, breath coming a little faster, and nodded for Cas to continue.

“I continued my performance of course,” Cas murmured, licking his lips. “But my attention, my concentration, was fractured. It was no longer the Sub I was playing with. I was picturing him, this person, instead. I was no longer focused on my Sub and that’s dangerous. It can lead to accidents, injuries. I was lucky this time. The scene was completed successfully, but the implication is there. This man has an effect on me that no other does and I find that...incredibly interesting.”

“What, uh…” Dean coughed once, gave his head a quick shake, “...um. You say it’s never happened before. During a scene?”

“Mmm.” Cas nodded, frowning, deep in thought. “Never happened before...ever, actually, now that I’m thinkin’ about it.”

“Ever.” Dean’s voice was carefully neutral.

“Ever,” Cas reiterated, tapping fingers against his knee. "Strange feeling. Not sure I liked it. Distraction… it sounds pathetic for a professional like me. Imagine if people had noticed. Imagine if my  _ Sub  _ had noticed.” He shook his head despondently, pressing his lips together. 

He waited for Dean to respond, but he was looking down at his notepad, arms straight out on the table, fists clenched. Cas smirked; his entire career was built off of how well he could read the body language of his partners, but it didn’t even take a professional to know what kind of effect he was having. Every muscle in his shoulders rigid, jaw set hard, the tendon in his neck bulging slightly...Dean was tightly wound- had been for a while, for reasons long pre-dating Cas- a tether ready to snap. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me what happened?” Cas pressed. “What I did?”

Dean swallowed again, his throat clicking. When he finally looked up he looked like he’d aged ten years in the last five minutes, meeting Cas’s eyes with a gaze that held no anger or malice, but rather...defeat. 

“What did you do?” he asked after a moment, voice hoarse and barely audible.

“Well,” Cas started, grunting softly as he stood, walking past Dean’s desk on his way over to the window. “There was an audience, as you can imagine, so I had to complete the scene by any means necessary, hope none of them pick up on the change. So I did. Once the surprise wore off and I wrapped my head around it, I just... _ used  _ it. And it worked.” He shrugged. “I  _ did  _ have to cut the session a little short, though.”

Silence from behind him. Cas smiled out the window, cocking a brow as he turned, fixing his gaze on the back of Dean’s head. “I’ll save you the trouble of asking why. So after this man left, as I said, there was no point in letting free and quality sexual fodder go to waste, so- and you’ll be proud of me for this one, doc- do you know what I did?”

_ Nothing  _ on Dean moved. Cas wasn’t even entirely sure he was still breathing.

“I  _ came,”  _ Cas asserted, narrowing his eyes challengingly. “ _ During  _ play. Crazy, right? Like we were  _ just  _ talking about this.”

Dean’s eyes slipped shut and Cas swore he could hear the tiniest, softest of moans. Perhaps wishful thinking. “R-right,” the man said roughly, his voice so raw Cas would have thought he’d been shouting for the past hour. “You...don’t usually-”

“Correct,” Castiel turned from the window, taking a step towards Dean’s desk. “We discussed how play, while stimulating for me, had never... _ satisfied _ me as desired. And yet, this person caused such an extreme reaction that I managed completion during play, in front of an audience. Now, I would say that’s a bit of a breakthrough, right?”

Dean didn’t respond, his eyes staring holes into his desk, nails digging into the surface. Cas knew blue balls when he saw them and he was willing to bet a year’s salary that Dean was sporting a painful situation behind that desk.

Cas bit his lip and moved slowly, approaching Dean with careful steps, as if afraid the man would bolt and run at any moment...which wasn’t entirely impossible. 

“How long has it been?” Cas whispered softly in Dean’s ear, leaning down against the desk, eye level with him.

“What,” Dean whispered hoarsely, twitching when Cas leaned in closer.

“How long has it been? Since you’ve been fucked.”

Dean shook his head quickly, jaw clenched so tightly Cas imagined that it hurt. “That is  _ not _ -”

“Cut the shit, Dean,” Cas muttered darkly. “We both know what’s happening here. Now answer the question.”

Dean blew out air through his nose and closed his eyes. “Years.”

That gave Cas pause. He hadn’t expected an answer really, and especially one like that. Dean had been depriving himself that long? 

“I could help with that.”

The tension in the room felt so thick it made  _ him  _ uncomfy, nevermind the effect it seemed to have on Dean. And if that was true- if it’d really been years- Dean was surely more tightly wound than he ever expected him to be...not while looking effortlessly sexy the way he had the nerve to every goddamn day.

Dean didn’t open his eyes, and he didn’t move. 

“Come on, Dean,” Cas urged, close enough to feel the heat radiating off of Dean’s body, just shy of touching. “Look how much you’ve already helped me. This is how I can help you in return.”

“Don’t...need…” Dean managed, but trailed off with a shake of his head.

Cas hesitated a beat, then straightened. Dean’s rigid body somehow tensed more at his movement, but he remained in his seat, still refusing to acknowledge Cas’s suggestive proximity. 

“Look at you. Can’t even  _ pretend  _ this isn’t what you want, can you?”

He rounded the desk, leaning slowly over the front until he was eye level with Dean. With no other option, he finally looked up, and Cas smirked as they locked eyes, the thick tension in the room suddenly snapping right back into the force from which it came- there was absolutely no denying it anymore.

“Tell me, Dean. Tell me to leave, tell me you don’t want to see my face anymore. Tell me you don’t want this.”

Dean sat slowly back in his chair, scrubbing hands down his face. They then fell to his thighs with a  _ slap _ , and those green eyes glared up at him again. Instead of a response, he pushed himself up out of his chair and strode past Cas, swinging the door to the office open. He stepped back and looked to Cas.

“You need to leave.”

Cas grinned, biting his bottom lip. He crossed the room slowly, coming to a stop inches from Dean.

“I still have 42 minutes.”

“Don’t care.”

“But you didn’t  _ say  _ it.”

He could see the muscles in Dean’s jaw working, but he didn’t speak immediately. Then, through gritted teeth:

“I... _ don’t... _ want this.”

Cas’s smile widened briefly, then faded, all traces of humor drained from his lips and instead supplied the mischievous glint in his eyes. Another half step had him nearly chest to chest with the guy, neither of them willing to back down.

Cas leaned in as close as Dean would allow.

“I don’t believe you.”

Cas saw Dean tense and for a moment thought the man was going to throw a punch. The muscles even bunched, readying for  _ something _ , but all Dean did was slam the door shut. He got back in Cas’s face, anger and frustration and sexual tension so thick Cas could feel it rolling off him in waves. Cas’s eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t back down from the sudden challenge. He rolled his shoulders and straightened his spine, face hardening.

“Did I strike a nerve?”

Dean ground his teeth. “What gives you the  _ audacity _ to presume to know  _ anything _ -”

“You read minds for a living, Dean,” Cas tilted his head, their faces so close it would take just the barest of movements to press their lips together. “And _ I _ read bodies. And yours is  _ screaming _ at me. Deny it all you want, because I can see it plain as day. You're lying right through your teeth. What I  _ can’t _ see is why you’re depriving yourself of something you clearly need.”

Dean’s stance seemed to deflate and Cas detected a slight tremble. “I  _ can’t _ -”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Dean seemed taken aback, his head jerking backwards. Cas took advantage and pressed further to close the gap.

“Is your job your only identity?” Castiel asked quietly, watching Dean intently. “Are you so content to let it rule you? So much so that even when presented the opportunity to help release all of this...energy, you deny it? Just because I’m a patient? You’re burying yourself, I can see it. There’s a part of you clawing to be free. I can  _ help _ you, Dean. Truly. You have no idea how much so.”

Cas dipped his head slightly, catching Dean’s eyes. Dean reluctantly followed them back, and Cas pressed his lips together, shifting his weight to his back foot to give him an extra inch or so of space while he considered it.

Finally Dean swallowed slowly, Adam’s apple bobbing under tan, stubbled skin. He relaxed a little into the space Cas had allowed; making a valiant attempt to regain some of his footing, but Cas wasn’t fooled by the display having been trained for signs of discomfort all his whole adult life. Dean attempted to paint the picture of relaxed, but the hard line of his shoulders, the way he held himself, even the way he  _ looked  _ at Cas- despite forcing a neutral face- were all telling Cas one thing:

They were getting somewhere.

“I need you to leave, Castiel,” Dean finally said evenly, leaving no room for argument, not that Cas would’ve wanted to. It was time to let Dean have some time to himself, let what Cas said really sink in. Let him sit with it for a few days, and then...then he’ll call.

Yeah. He’ll call.

Cas wasn’t as convinced of that with Dean as he’d been before with others, but he nodded anyway.

“Okay,” he said easily, taking another step back. He didn’t miss the quick flicker of Dean’s eyes to his lips and away again, or the noticeable breath he released with the added space between them. He stepped back as Cas opened the door himself this time, pausing to shove one hand in his pocket. “Goodbye, Dean.”

He never heard the door shut behind him when he stepped out, but he never turned around to check, either.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOFTA

Castiel gave Dean the time and space he felt was needed. To keep his mind off the man and what may or may not happen, he threw himself into designing the website. It was a unique challenge to create something that was both professional but also spoke of Dean. Too much plaid would make people think of a lodge, but anything too neutral or clinical just didn’t speak to Dean’s generally warm nature.

Designing the logo was also a welcome distraction and presented the same sort of challenge. The project kept him busy, was a good excuse to cut his phone calls with his mother short, and allowed his mind to process things in the background.

He hadn’t truly meant to upset Dean, but sometimes people needed a good push. It wasn’t just about the attraction or potential sex either. Castiel was truly concerned for Dean. His own method of therapy may or may not be the right answer for Dean, but Cas had been in the game long enough to trust his gut. Dean was depriving himself of basic needs- and Cas was resolute on the fact that this  _ was _ a need- and it was simply unnecessary and potentially unhealthy. Despite what his parents would have him believe, sexuality was no sin and was just as complex as any aspect of humanity. Keeping these desires bottled up was just as potentially catastrophic as keeping emotions locked up. Eventually, something was going to give and it usually didn’t end well.

After a few days, Castiel finally tore himself away from the computer and picked up his phone. He fell into bed and stared at the screen before deciding he would text. Calling had been the original intent, but after some thought Cas decided a text might be more comfortable for Dean. It left space to think and wouldn’t put him on the spot. It also meant he could simply ignore Cas, which was also fine and was an answer in itself. Either way, he would know where things stood.

**_Cas: I’ve finished your logo._ **

Cas laid his phone face down on his chest and grabbed his remote from his nightstand, clicking on the tv. He cycled through the channels for a while before settling on a rerun of some cop procedural, and his eyes had begun to drift closed when his phone finally pinged another couple of minutes later.

**_Dean: Awesome. Thank u._ **

Several more minutes passed, with no other response.

**_Cas: Would you like to see? I can email you_ ** **_the proof, and you can just let me know_ ** **_of any changes you want to make._ **

Still no response. Cas chewed his lip, staring at the unanswered messages on his phone. Maybe it was a sign. Perhaps his real reasoning here was selfishness and selfishness alone, only working so diligently to pursue Dean for his own desires. And Dean was a therapist, after all. If Cas was manipulating him, surely he’d be the first to know about it.

His phone pinged again to promptly pull him from those thoughts.

**_Dean: Can we meet?_ **

It would be stupid of Cas to get excited with this little knowledge, but his heart skipped a beat nonetheless. He sucked in a breath, thumbs flying across the phone as he typed.

**_Cas: Absolutely._ **

**_Dean: Where?_ **

**_Cas: Don’t care. Just tell me where_ ** **_and what time._ **

Enough time passed that Cas’s heart had finally gone back to normal when his phone went off again, setting the damn thing into another frenzy. 

**_Dean:_ ** **_Rory’s Place. 7pm tonight._ **

**_Best burgers in town._ **

**_Cas: If you say so. I’ll be there._ **

Containing his smugness for the rest of the day became nearly impossible, but all of it quickly melted into nervousness leading up to the meeting, and flat out anxiety nearly an hour before. He’d long since showered, shaved, and tamed his hair into tousled perfection, appreciative of the outcome from his efforts when looking in the mirror. Dressing was a different beast, proving the most challenging once again. He cycled through 3 different pairs of pants and 9 different tops before settling on a pair of black chinos, a faded-wash denim shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and a pair of casual worn leather dress shoes.

Castiel looked at himself in his full-length mirror then took a deep breath. His heart was beating wildly and he forced it to slow. This meeting  _ could _ be nothing more than business related. It was difficult to tell with Dean, who kept his thoughts so carefully guarded, and even more so over something like texting. Tone was impossible to interpret. 

He shook his head and headed for the door, keys and wallet in hand. He would be massively early, but that was perfect. It gave him time to gather his restless thoughts and compose himself. Castiel didn’t want to antagonize Dean any further. He wanted the man as comfortable as possible, which meant keeping his own desire to himself until he knew what this meeting could- or could not- lead to.

He arrived at Rory’s Place around 6:30 and chose a table next to a window. He ordered coffee and watched traffic meander by, his mind whirring and churning until it finally settled. By the time Dean walked through the front door, Castiel felt more like his usual calm and controlled self.

“Evenin’,” Dean said gruffly as he sat across from Cas. His eyes looked tired, his body sagging as if he hadn't slept for more than just a few hours. Cas felt a stab of guilt and quickly pushed it aside.

“Nice place you’ve picked,” Cas said, glancing around the old diner.

“I like it,” Dean shrugged. “It’s homey.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

They sat in some tense silence, Dean distractedly looking over a menu Cas was sure he probably knew by heart. When the waitress came over, Dean ordered a beer and something called ‘The Big Plate’, at which Cas raised a brow.

“I’m gonna need you to not judge me while I eat like a pig in front of you,” Dean muttered, a bit red in the cheeks. “After we texted, I kinda realized I hadn’t eaten much of anything in about two days, so…”

Cas winced and bowed his head. “I’m sorry.”

Dean lifted a shoulder. “Not your fault.”

Cas tilted his head side to side. “Mm, it sort of is.”

Dean stared at him for a moment then snorted a small laugh. “Yeah. Well yeah, guess it kinda is.”

Cas gave him a sympathetic smile. “I do want to apologize for my behavior the last time we saw each other. Although I feel it was necessary and I don’t regret it, I feel guilty for putting you in that position.”

Dean drug his teeth over his bottom lip, surveying his sincerity, perhaps. Finally he nodded. “Thanks.”

Cas fiddled with the stirrer in his coffee, rolling it absently between his fingers. 

“So you finished the logo,” Dean started, when it became clear Cas wasn’t going to respond.

Cas huffed an incredulous laugh, his eyes giving a quick sweep of the room as he leaned back in his seat. They settled on Dean again and he pressed his lips together in an attempt to suppress the humor, giving his head a slight shake. 

“What are we doing here, Dean?”

Dean swallowed hard as he anxiously flicked a creased corner of his menu. He spoke with a small laugh as well, his voice hoarse. “Would you believe I thought this would be a buffer?”

Cas hid his own surprise with a hum, failing not to further disparage Dean with a smile. He raised a brow, leaning forward. “Now, I think you know me a bit better than that, doctor.”

“Yeah,” Dean laughed again. “I do. I know more about you than most, and it should keep me far away.”

“Yet here you are.”

“Yeah,” Dean murmured. “Here I am.”

The waitress walked up then with another beer, oblivious to the tension, left it in the old one's place , and left again. Neither of their eyes strayed...and Cas was, frankly, impressed. A little annoyed. And incredibly turned on.

“You’re trouble too, you know,” Cas said, reaching for his mug. “Whatever this is? It’s not something I do. I don’t  _ chase. _ ” He smirked, shrugging a shoulder. “But when a client requires it…”

“‘M not your client,” Dean countered.

“Yet.”

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but the waitress returned with napkins and extra sugar for Cas's coffee, so he leaned back and gave her a forced smile and nod instead. 

“Ever,” he hissed when she walked away, leaning over the table now, a fist clenched on top. “That’s not how this is going to work.”

Cas lifted his hands in surrender. Dean huffed and sat back, arms crossed over his chest. They sat like that for some time until Dean’s food came.

“You sure you only want coffee, hun?” the waitress asked Cas.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Cas nodded, smiling up at her. “Thank you.”

She nodded and walked off. Cas’s eyes slid back to Dean, who was too busy with his food to pay much attention to him. Cas raised a brow, but said nothing as Dean bit into a massive burger. For a few minutes, Dean ate and Cas watched. Dean finally put down his burger long enough to take a drink and Cas sighed.

“Here,” he murmured, pulling up the picture of the logo on his phone and sliding it across the table.

Dean paused before taking the phone, staring at the image then glancing up at Cas.

“That’s…” he swallowed a bit of burger and cleared his throat. “That’s awesome. I don’t even know what to say.”

“Thank you,” Cas nodded, tapping a finger on the table. “I wanted to incorporate that car of yours, since you seem to love it so much. You have pictures everywhere. Anything else seemed too clinical for you.”

Dean nodded, looking over the picture once more before sliding the phone back slowly. “I appreciate the work you put into that. It means alot.”

“Can I ask you something?” Cas said abruptly. Dean blinked then nodded, albeit reluctantly. Cas took a deep breath. 

“Why are you so against it? Is it just because you’re my therapist? Or is it something else?”

Dean pressed his lips together and looked out the window, watching a couple walk by hand in hand. “What else would it be?”

“Perhaps you’re afraid,” Cas shrugged. “Many are when they realize that their desires are not socially accepted. That they’re not ‘normal’.” 

“I’m not afraid,” Dean said defensively.

Cas shrugged again. “Then let’s go with uncertain. You’ve never thought that you had the capacity to have such needs. To want something so taboo. You’re uncertain how to deal with this newfound information about yourself. And yes...I think you’re afraid of how much you’ll like it when you inevitably try it.”

“Who says it’s inevitable.”

“Me. And you, to be frank. Maybe not in so many words.”

Dean smirked and sat back in his chair, looking...a bit too comfortable. He picked up a fry and dipped it in ketchup, tossing it in his mouth and meeting Cas’s eyes with a smug confidence.

Cas raised a brow, cocking his head to the side, a smile pulling at his lips. “Unless I'm off base. Unless...it’s something else. Maybe you already accepted what you like, who you like. Maybe you’re just afraid of...how  _ far.  _ Will you know where to stop, when? The fact that I’m your patient is only a part of your hesitance, the part you’ve told me. Are you afraid of...addiction? Vulnerability? Attachment? Crossing a line you can't come back from?”

Dean shifted in his seat, grabbing another fry.

Cas clicked his tongue. “Doesn’t matter. If you let me, I can figure it out myself. And in doing so, help you fix it.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, doubt that.”

“You’re helping me. I think it’s only fair I get to help you. Try, at least.”

Dean gave him a hard glare, dropping a fry to his plate. “ _ Am  _ I actually helping though?”

“Well, you have at least once.”

Dean rolled his eyes closed and sighed. “I think you know that’s not  _ exactly  _ what I’m going for.”

“You  _ are _ helping,” Cas said, mustering up as much authenticity as he possibly could. “I wouldn’t have been back if you weren’t. Doesn’t matter  _ how  _ pretty you are.”

“And you-” Dean said dismissively, “you say you don’t do this sort of thing. What’s so different for you?”

Cas floundered, opening and closing his mouth once, then sat back, defeated.

“Won’t say? Or don’t know?” Dean challenged. Cas didn’t answer. Dean chuckled, popping another fry in his mouth and sliding the plate a few inches across the table. “Have a fry. You don’t look like you’ve eaten, either.”

It was Cas’s turn to glare the shit-eating grin off Dean’s face. He grumbled and grabbed a couple of fries, forgoing the ketchup as he popped them into his mouth and chewed. Dean was right, of course; he hadn’t eaten anything substantial since his last therapy session. He could blame it on the work for Dean’s website, but they’d both know he was lying.

“You are remarkably stubborn,” Cas snorted, snatching another fry. 

“You have no idea.”

Cas’s eye twitched and he smiled slowly. “Oh, I have an idea. I’ve dealt with stubborn Subs. Let’s call it a kink of mine. I enjoy breaking them into submission.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “You think I’m a Sub?”

Cas shrugged and leaned back as he took a sip of his coffee. “I have my suspicions, but I really don’t know you well enough to say decisively. You sound a little insulted. There is nothing demeaning about being a Sub. At least in a healthy relationship, Subs are not slaves, despite occasional slave play. The Dom and Sub are equal. Actually…” Cas leaned forward, clasping his hands together and raising both brows, “it’s the Sub who has the real power. It’s the Sub who decides what happens, how it happens, and when it stops.”

Dean frowned thoughtfully, chewing on his lip. “But the Dom-”

“Is simply acting out a fantasy with whatever power the Sub has chosen to  _ loan  _ him or her,” Cas shrugged. “It’s a temporary exchange of power ultimately controlled by the Sub.”

They both sat in silence; Cas watching Dean, and Dean staring down at the table with an unreadable expression. Cas tilted his head curiously, wishing not for the first time that he could get inside Dean’s head. 

“Does knowing that change your mind?”

Dean snapped his head up and narrowed his eyes. “And how do you know what decision I’ve made?”

Cas blinked. “You just got finished telling me you weren’t going to allow this to happen.”

“No,” Dean said, standing up and throwing down a few bills. “I said I wasn’t ever going to be a client.”

Cas opened his mouth to speak, but Dean was already out the door. 

~*~

Cas arrived back at home just a little after 8 p.m., still a little dazed even after the nearly 20 minute ride at what had transpired. He’d sat there at the diner for nearly five minutes before realizing that Dean was not, in fact, coming back, so he shook his head, paid his bill, and left.

He hadn’t expected a call from Dean, but even still, the lack of one bothered him. He irritably tossed his phone to the sofa on his way to the bedroom, replaying every detail of the evening in his head, trying to find the turning point, the moment he should’ve known it would all go bad. But truly, it was the most open, the most honest conversation they’d had so far. Dean didn’t have to say much to tell Cas nearly everything he needed to know. And even still, he couldn’t puzzle it out, couldn’t pinpoint the crucial detail that had led to the abrupt departure...not when everything in his body was telling him otherwise. Maybe Cas had imagined it?

And imagining it meant that Cas really  _ was _ losing his touch, which meant he really  _ was _ royally fucked.

He was back around to the beginning-  _ that’s not how this is going to work _ , Dean had said- when a hard knock at his door startled him from his thoughts. He froze, one arm inside his shirt, the other out, and frowned as he pulled it back over his shoulders on the way to the door, hastily flattening his collar before swinging it open.

There he found Dean, leaning against the doorway with hands on either side, his head hung between his shoulders. He looked up as the door opened, his breath coming fast, like maybe he’d actually jogged the flights of steps it took to get to his apartment instead of simply waiting on the elevator.

But then, he supposed that waiting would’ve required  _ patience. _

They stared at one another, each waiting for the other to say something. Finally, Cas echoed his words from the diner, quietly:

“What are we doing here, Dean?”

Dean stood straight, his fists clenched at his sides, jaw and forehead set in hard lines. His nostrils flared. Cas’s cock twitched.

“Dean?”

Dean’s voice was firm. “I won’t be your client.”

Cas paused, shifted his weight to one foot to lean against the open door, cocking his head to survey him. “Why don’t you come in? We’ll discuss-”

“ _ No.  _ My way, Cas. Or not at all.”

Cas faltered again. A relationship, even sexual, without paperwork, boundaries...it wasn’t something he did. But then, there was something here...he was  _ sure  _ of that. And it was time for a new challenge. 

Plus he really,  _ really  _ wanted to.

Their eyes met and Cas’s shoulders sagged slightly as he let a defeated sigh out of his nose, pressing his lips together. Finally, he took a deep breath and nodded.

“Okay, then.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when Dean crashed into him, knocking him backwards, a hand twisted in Cas’s shirt as their lips met and tongues immediately clashed. Cas grabbed the sleeves of Dean’s jacket and held them, hearing the door slam as Dean kicked it shut behind them. 

Dean was already trying to untie his own boots without disconnecting from Cas, so Cas took the opportunity to take the upper hand, pushing him the foot back into the wall. He held him with an arm across his chest, attempting to use his free hand to unbutton his own pants...which turned out to be a mistake, because as soon as Dean wrestled an arm free he grabbed a fistful of Cas’s shirt and jerked him to the right where they tumbled into the door, Cas’s back pressed to the cool metal. He heard his favorite shirt tear somewhere, but then Dean’s hands were on his overheated skin and Castiel couldn’t give a flying fuck about it anymore.

Dean finally managed to get his boots off and kicked them away before impatiently going after what was left of Cas’s shirt. He growled as he tossed it to the side, lips never leaving Cas’s. He pushed Cas harder into the door, forcing a leg between his thighs. Cas bit down on Dean’s lip, causing the man to jerk back in surprise. Cas smirked and advanced, pushing Dean further into the apartment. They stumbled and bumped into furniture, sending at least one lamp crashing to the floor. 

Cas still had one shoe on and his belt was only partially open when they fell onto the couch. Cas got Dean onto his back with some effort, but the man still had entirely too many articles of clothing on. 

“Get this off,” Cas plucked at Dean’s shirt.

“You get it off,” Dean bit back, already capturing Cas’s lips again before he could say anything.

Cas’s fingers fumbled as he battled the buttons of Dean’s flannel, his mind torn between getting Dean naked and playing with his tongue. Dean’s impatient noises and nipping teeth weren’t helping matters, but they were certainly getting Cas’s cock harder. He growled and forced the shirt up Dean’s torso with some effort- okay, a  _ lot  _ of effort- pressing his whole weight down on top of him. Dean only barely assisted in the removal by lifting his arms just enough for Cas to pull it off and toss it to the floor, while Cas’s lips and teeth found his neck.

They tried to start on their pants at the same time, but Dean reached up to bat Cas’s hands out of the way, throwing him slightly off balance as his belt was jerked through its loops and the pressure of the jeans against his cock was relieved. He sat up on his knees to gain access to the button of Dean’s pants, and of course Dean used the momentary lapse in judgement to gain the upper hand, pushing Cas onto his back and jerking his pants down to his ankles and straddled him. Cas groaned and bucked his hips up, meeting only frustrating  _ fabric _ , and reached between them to get a hand down the front of Dean’s pants, his hand  _ finally  _ sliding over the smooth skin of his cock. 

Dean let out a strained sound mixed with a sigh and folded, momentarily letting Cas have that, his hands on either side of Cas’s head, his own forehead lowered to Cas’s...a moment of peace, the eye of the storm. The trance was ultimately broken when Cas swiped a thumb over the wet head and they both became too impatient to continue, especially when there was so much more to be had and god only knew what- if anything- would come after.

It was a shame not to be able to take his time, but at this point, Cas wasn’t in any position to be picky. 

When he felt Dean finally shift Cas grabbed one of his wrists and pulled as he bucked up, pulling Dean down to the couch and effectively finding himself back on top. Both of them panted hard, one of Cas’s arms and all the body weight he could muster pressing down against him and his arms, the other dipped between them to slide Dean’s pants down his thighs.

“Stay...still,” Cas growled in his ear, struggling against both the clothing and the man himself. 

“Thought you were s’posed to  _ make me _ ,” Dean bit back. 

Cas gritted his teeth, both of them glaring daggers as their chests heaved against one another. Finally Dean’s frown faded into a cocky, challenging grin, and Cas shook his head and huffed a laugh.

“Well, doctor,” Cas said breathlessly, “looks like we’re gonna have a lot to talk about next week.”

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ about,” Dean muttered darkly, arching up and nearly bucking Cas off. “I dunno why you’re talkin’ at all, actually.”

“Because it makes you squirm,” Castiel’s lips twitched and he ground down, pushing his weight into it and making Dean grunt with the force. “And I like that.”

“You always talk your Subs’ ears off?” Dean huffed, muscles straining as he tried to push back up but was unable to gain the leverage to do so.

Cas smirked and tilted his head. “Are you my Sub, Dean?”

“ _ Shut up and fuck me _ ,” Dean snarled in Cas’s face. 

“Down boy,” Cas cooed, earning a scathing glare. “I had no idea you were so feisty.” He slowly, carefully, lifted himself up enough to shimmy his lower half up Dean’s body until he straddled the man’s chest. Cas quickly fished out his straining cock, letting it bob between them, and he smacked Dean’s chest with it possessively, leaving a smear of pre-cum.

“Suck it,” Cas demanded.

Dean grinned up at him in what Cas could only see as a threatening manner.

“If you even think of biting,” Cas warned, his voice nothing more than gravel, “you can kiss that fucking you wanted goodbye.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Cas leaned down and spoke in Dean’s ear. “Try me.”

He sat back up and raised a brow, watching Dean glare up at him. A moment passed, then Dean slowly parted his lips. Cas hummed and nudged the head of his cock inside, sighing when Dean immediately clamped down with lips and tongue. His cheeks hollowed and coaxed Castiel in further. 

“You’ve got a nice mouth when it’s not running,” Cas murmured, nudging his hips, his cock stretching Dean’s lips wide. “Pretty. I could watch it move like this all day long.”

Dean closed his eyes and hummed, his nails biting into one of Castiel’s thighs as he squeezed...not that Cas could give a fuck about something like that at the moment. Cas braced himself with his hands on the arm of the couch, sliding forward enough that Dean would have a task ahead of him trying to get out of the position; unlikely, but of course with Dean, not impossible. Dean continued to stare up at him, take him deeper, pulling him in. He swallowed around Cas and Cas sucked in a breath, gritting his teeth.

Maybe it was because this was exactly the sort of thing that got Cas off anyway, or maybe it was just because it was Dean, but it felt like mere seconds before he was forced to pull out. He held the tip over Dean’s lips, sliding it slowly from side to side, panting. Dean raised a brow and teased the tip with his tongue, earning a loud groan from Cas.

“...fuck,” Cas growled, running a hand through his hair as he slid back further still. He dropped a hand to Dean’s throat and held it loosely, only tight enough that Dean knew he was aware of the exact spot he’d need to squeeze to put him out, should he want to. He looked quickly around the room and huffed, frowning back down at Dean. “Don’t you fuckin’ move. You hear me?”

Dean smirked, pushing up against him. “No promises.”

Cas rolled his eyes- and secretly relished the idea of another potential chase- but pushed himself to his feet. He kicked the last leg of his pants the rest of the way off on his way to his bedroom, where he went directly to his nightstand for a condom and the lube.

Dean looked like he was seriously considering bolting when Cas got back, if only as a cruel joke. Cas didn’t give him any more opportunity than he already had, tossing the necessary items onto the coffee table. He hauled Dean to a sitting position by his arm and neck, stepping up to immediately fill his smart mouth with his cock again, twisting a hand into his hair, pulling.

Cas wasn’t satisfied until he could hear Dean struggling for breath, choking with nearly each pass, yet still attempting more, more, more. He pulled out, stumbling back a little, wiping sweat off his forehead with an arm as he reached for the lube.

“I don’t need that,” Dean coughed out, his voice beautifully raw. The sound of it made Cas’s cock twitch, a bead of cum dripping out.

“I’m the one that decides what you do or do not need,” Castiel grunted, uncapping the lube.

“What if I want it to hurt?” Dean challenged, glaring up at Cas. The look was difficult to take seriously, Cas being too busy admiring Dean’s abused lips and flushed face.

“I’m going to give you everything you want,” Cas promised, grabbing the condom packet and ripping it open with his teeth. Dean followed the movement hungrily, mouth hanging open slightly, temping Cas to push his cock back inside. He held back, barely, in favor of what was to come.

“Confident,” Dean snorted, eyes snapping down as Cas rolled the condom onto his rigid cock.

“I have every right to be,” Cas’s lips quirked and he jerked his head. “Undress. Now.”

Perhaps it was his tone or Dean’s impatience, but for once the man didn’t argue. Dean stood and kicked his jeans the rest of the way off. Next were his boxers, leaving him bare to Cas’s greedy eyes. He took a moment to admire the beautiful form in front of him. 

Dean was taller than him by just an inch or two, and his clothes had always made it seem the man was on the stockier side. But Dean was lean, a classic V shape with a narrow waist. And yet Cas could plainly see muscle and just the slightest pudge on the belly. And good  _ God _ the freckles. Cas wanted to kiss every single one, trace them with his tongue and fingers. 

“Beautiful,” he murmured, eyes raking him over slowly. Dean shifted on his feet, either unused to or uncomfortable with the attention. Cas snapped out of his trance and gestured towards the back of the couch. “Bend over and spread your legs. Find a good grip to brace yourself.”

Dean raised a brow in challenge. “Brace myself, huh? Brag much?”

“No,” Cas said smoothly, squeezing lube onto his hand and spreading it over his cock. “Merely offering good advice.”

Dean snorted, but slowly responded, without even attempting to hide his gaze roaming Cas’s body. “Right, okay. Well fair warning, I don’t do quiet.”

Cas grinned. “I’m counting on it.”

He stepped forward and grabbed Dean’s bicep, jerking him the last few inches to the couch and bending him over with a push between the shoulders. He squirted extra lube on his fingers and slid them down Dean’s crack as he slid the other hand up his back, pressing him down, unrelenting even when Dean arched at the contact.

Cas grabbed a handful of his hair, holding him that way as he leaned forward to whisper in his ear, his cock pressed to the curve of Dean’s ass. “You can always tap out if it gets to be too much for you.”

“And you can always blow me,” Dean spat back, his heated gaze meeting Cas’s. The sight of his boyish grin that followed, the smugness despite the fact that Cas had him bent over a sofa with a hand in his hair, pulling so hard his back was forced to arch...it’s exactly everything Cas wanted and was absolutely not prepared for.

Cas reached down between them again, this time to drag the head of his cock through a trail of lube and line himself up. Giving Dean’s hair a sharp tug, he made sure his eyes were back on him as he unceremoniously pushed inside, burying himself in one hard thrust. Dean’s eyes widened slightly and mouth fell open with a low groan, and when Cas released his hair in favor of more important things (the necessity of bracing himself with hands on Dean’s hips just because of  _ how fucking good  _ it felt) his head dropped between his shoulders. He white-knuckled the back of the couch, shaking his head as he let out a harsh breath.

“How are you doing, Dean?” 

Truth be told, Cas wasn’t doing so hot himself- it was most of the reason he was giving himself a minute- but it did its job. Dean clenched around him as his body tensed and he slapped a hand down on the couch frame.

“Just  _ fuck me _ already!”

Cas chuckled breathlessly but gave him his wish, reaching up to clasp a hand over Dean’s shoulder, pressing deep. It punched out a grunt and a roll of his shoulders; Cas felt the muscles moving under his hand and smiled to himself as he pulled back and thrust forward again, earning another soft sound, then a groan as he pulled back. 

He could feel Dean starting to get impatient, so he finally picked up the pace, gripping both of Dean’s hips hard enough to leave bruises. Not that Dean would mind, he was sure, but it was something he was usually more worried about controlling. 

The problem was that Cas wanted to be touching the man everywhere he could, watching him, studying his face in the various stages of passion, what worked, what didn’t...but those things were not strictly what Dean had come to him for, and there was a good chance they’d make him uncomfortable. Dean did, however, want a good hard fucking, and Cas was more than capable and willing to give that to him.

He pushed Dean forward, maneuvering him to his knees on the couch, still holding tightly to the back, and put one of his own feet up on the couch for the leverage to fuck him deeper, harder. He was already sweating just from the exertion of keeping his teetering orgasm at bay, but he focused very singularly on Dean’s sounds...the sharp in and outtake of breath, the growly groans and whispered curses, the pained grunts on particularly hard passes. Even knowing Dean wanted the pain, Cas worried he wouldn’t know when to stop. At least with his Subs there was a tangible event, a clear, hard line which their contract would become null and void if he crossed it. There wasn’t the same fear with Dean, but a new one...with Dean, he could cross a line and not even know where it was. He supposed all vanilla relationships dealt with much the same dynamic, but being new to him, it was a frightening concept.

“Thought you wanted rough?” Cas teased, his hands finding their way to the base of Dean’s neck, holding loosely from behind, thumbs pressed to the base of his skull.

“You...call...this...rough?” Dean growled between each hard thrust, the force pushing him into the frame of the couch. 

Cas’s response was pushing Dean down further, his fingers tightening over the base of his throat, nails digging into the skin to leave marks. He angled himself deeper, skin slapping against skin. Dean didn’t- or couldn’t- respond to Cas’s onslaught except to grunt and moan and cry out at a particularly sharp thrust. He was gasping harshly, fingers dipping so deep into the couch Cas vaguely thought it might leave holes.

Cas abruptly lifted Dean’s head by his hair. “Breathe,” he grunted, thrusts never letting up. Dean sucked in air, his face red, mouth hanging open as his body was rocked relentlessly. Cas glanced down once he was sure Dean was getting air, eyeing the neglected cock trapped between Dean’s stomach and the couch. It was painfully swollen, leaking onto the material of the furniture, cum smearing with each pass from Cas. 

“You want to come, don’t you?” Cas growled into Dean’s ears, nipping at a lobe and pulling with his teeth.

Dean whimpered then seemed to catch himself, his voice rough and caught in his throat as he growled back. “You ain’t that good.”

Castiel chuckled breathlessly and moved an arm down, his fingers hovering a mere inch from Dean’s cock. “Your body can’t hide what it’s feeling,” he whispered. “I bet if I were to simply squeeze…” his fingers grazed the rigid flesh and Dean jerked, a groan bursting from him, his body trembling violently. “Mmhm, you would explode all over my couch.”

Cas pressed deep and stilled his hips, then circled them slowly, catching his own breath, giving his own cock a much needed reprieve. He slid a hand across Dean’s stomach and up to his chest as he touched his forehead to Dean’s back, the other hand still firmly on his hip. He was very aware of the proximity of the tips of his fingers to Dean’s cock, and truthfully, he should’ve received a medal for resisting it at all. But more important was the telltale stirring of the orgasm Cas was only barely keeping at bay, even as he barely moved. He was thankful for the foresight to take Dean for the first time this way- where he wouldn’t have to look into those  _ eyes _ , because if he had to, he would’ve been down this mental path several minutes prior...and he wouldn’t still be buried inside Dean.

“Think you’re just usin’ that as an excuse to touch it,” Dean said breathlessly, huffing a laugh. 

“Oh, baby, trust when I tell you, I do not need to touch your cock to make you come,” Cas smiled against his skin, tweaking a nipple as he drew his hand back. Dean twitched and sucked in a breath through his teeth, his hole clenching around Cas’s cock. 

Cas slid the hand down again, fingertips barely grazing the hair. “But tonight, I would very much like to.”

Before Dean had the chance to formulate some snide response, Cas shifted him to his side, pushing one of his legs up as he held a hand back over his throat in a very clear command:

_ Stay fucking still. _

The new position gave Cas the leverage he needed to push nearly an inch deeper, while watching every nuance in Dean’s response, and once he was sure Dean was speared too deeply to go anywhere, Cas dropped his hand to his cock. 

_ “Fuck!”  _ Dean cried out, once again gripping the sofa so tightly Cas was a little afraid for its odds. He panted heavily, eyes rolling back and closing when Cas’s hand slid over the wet head and down to his base, squeezing once. Cas’s own mouth hung open as he watched, and he bit his bottom lip as he pulled his hips back and snapped them forward, circling deep. They shared a shudder, a brief moment where their eyes met and Cas decided that was it, he was going to give this man everything he wanted, everything he had. 

He pressed his full weight into each thrust, stroking in time with each one. Dean’s glare up at him juxtaposed with his mouth hanging open with ecstasy made Cas want to gloat, but he couldn’t have if he tried, his impending orgasm fast approaching.

“I’ve imagined you like this,” Cas gasped out, sweat dripping down his face as he stared down at Dean. “And nothing could prepare me for...the real thing. How... _ fucking  _ beautiful you are…”

“Shuddup,” Dean grunted, straining his neck as Cas’s fingers clenched and released in repeating motions.

“Pictured so many scenarios,” Cas continued, ignoring the man’s lusty glare. “I wanted you so badly. Not just...for this…” He gripped Dean’s hips and pressed in deep, holding still. He shuddered as Dean clenched down on him, nearly forcing an orgasm from him. “I wanted to see you fall apart. See that shell crumble away. And look…” Cas rolled his hips, circled them, grazing Dean’s prostate and smirking as the man groaned and arched. “Look how beautifully you break for me.”

Dean clenched his teeth, jaw muscles jumping. “I. Do not.  _ Break. _ ”

Cas leaned forward and pressed a brief kiss to Dean’s ear before whispering. “I beg to differ, Dean.”

He reached down and gripped Dean’s dick, firm, and stroked as he thrust. Dean choked on a groan, eyes fluttering shut. Cas released a breath and gripped Dean’s hair with his other hand, pulling roughly as he thrust again, and again, and again. Harder each time. Sharp, aimed at the prostate, relentless as Cas put his weight into it.

“Cas,” Dean gasped, all fight leaving him. He grabbed at the couch, at Cas, at anything he could reach. His body strained and trembled, muscles taut, his cock twitching and leaking in Cas’s hand. “Cas, fuck,  _ fuck, right there _ -”

“Yes, baby, there you go,” Cas murmured, watching with wide unblinking eyes. “Fuck! Come undone for me. Look at you…”

Dean sobbed and arched, his whole body tensing as the orgasm rushed through him. He spilled onto Cas’s hand and Cas hissed through his teeth, only able to savor the vision for just a moment before his own orgasm followed, and he filled the condom as he buried himself in Dean’s ass and held it there.

Cas sagged against him, his sweaty forehead pressed to Dean’s equally slick shoulder as they both struggled to catch their breaths. Cas chuckled softly.

“God, you’re-”

“Stop it,” Dean said easily, not even angry. In fact, his voice was almost playful. “Get off’a me.”

“I was just going to say you’re...unexpected.” Cas pulled out slowly, pressing an automatic kiss to Dean’s shoulder when he saw him wince. “You surprise me.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah.”

Cas frowned, shifting his body behind Dean’s, propping his head up. “What, you can’t take a compliment?”

“Sure I can, but I ain’t unexpected. You knew I’d come. We both did. We both knew I’d give in, because you can read me, read my body, right?”

Cas pressed his lips together, but Dean didn’t bother looking back at him.

“Yeah,” Dean chuckled. “Come on, man. Save the personal stuff for our sessions. And just...save the compliments.”

Cas’s frown deepened and for a while, he didn’t know what to say- an occurrence probably far too rare for him. He watched the side of Dean’s face for a long time, the shadow of his eyelashes on his cheekbones, the full lips, the curve of his nose. He laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder again, a feather-light touch, the safest attempt at grounding a Sub as complex as Dean was to him right now.

“Did I hurt you?” Cas asked finally.

“What?” Dean jerked to look back at him with a frown. “No! Man, look, I’m good with...this, y’know, being manhandled and fucked thing...no shame, okay? But I gotta draw the line at the emotional stuff. I check that at the door every Monday through Friday at 6 p.m.”

Cas snorted. “You  _ listen _ to people all day, but you have to check your emotions at the door?”

“It’s draining to listen to people project all their shit onto you,” Dean sighed, but all trace of anger or tension was gone now, the hard line of his shoulders finally softened. “Maybe I just wanted to come here and not think for once- that’s your job, right? Get me outta my head? What if I just wanted to come here and be fucked by someone who is a self-proclaimed rough fuck, forget everything for awhile?”

“Then leave without another word?”

Dean closed his eyes and hummed. “Ideally, yes.”

“I have to talk to _ you _ . Why are you so afraid to talk to me?”

Dean huffed and rolled to his back, one hand falling onto his flushed chest with a hollow  _ thunk.  _ He looked over at Cas. “I’m talkin’ to you right now.”

“Dean-”

“Look, Cas, this was fun, but I gotta-” Dean made an effort to sit up, but Cas pressed a hand firmly to his chest.

“ _ No _ ,” he asserted, shaking his head. “Hard line. Aftercare is a must this time. It’s been a long time for you and we didn’t prepare you at all and we weren’t careful-”

Dean groaned, annoyed. “Dammit, Cas, I don’t need it. It’s not like I don’t, y’know...make merry with myself from time to time.”

_ “Dean _ ,” Cas growled out this time, setting his jaw. “I fucking mean it. I don’t have to say another word to you if that’s what you wish, but I need to provide this for you.  _ Please.  _ You know despite everything, I need this. And so do you.”

Dean stared at him for a long time, searching his eyes, his expression such a mix that Cas isn’t even sure which way he’s leaning. Finally he gave his head a hard shake, sitting up.

“No. I have somewhere I have to be anyway. I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Dean was already up and grabbing his clothes before Cas could try any further to convince him otherwise, using one of his socks to clean the mess the best he could with a couple of quick swipes. Cas watched him as he pulled on his jeans and stepped into his shoes, but Dean didn’t look up.

“Can’t or won’t?” Cas asked finally, and Dean jerked his head up to glare at him. 

“Don’t do this, Cas.”

“Do I need to beg you to stay? Is that it? I will. I’ll do it if it’ll make you stay.”

Dean let out a breath, still boring holes into Cas as he bent over to retrieve his shirt. He pulled it over his head and impatiently over his arms, then straightened it around his torso, flaring it out to let it fall naturally when he let go. He patted his front pocket and keys jangled, then he started toward the door.

“I’m not sure what you expected coming here, Dean, but if it was a quick fix you were after, you’re gonna be really disappointed.” 

Cas smirked when Dean stopped in his tracks at his own words echoing back to him, his shoulders rigid. 

“Fine,” Cas relented, sitting up enough to view Dean over the top of the couch as he paused in front of the door, facing away from him. “Leave today. But next time, next time you show up here wanting me like this, you don’t get off so easy. I have to come in and talk to you for an hour twice a week. If you want this your way, you gotta give me my hour.”

Dean turned slowly, his glower fixed upon Cas once more, a mixture of anger and disbelief and helplessness, but he didn’t make a move one way or the other. Something resembling a smile finally pulled at the corner of his lips as he gave the apartment a once-over, and he nodded, clicking his tongue. His eyes met Cas’s again, a tense beat passed, and the next moment he was crossing the space between them, leaning over the couch to grip the back of Cas’s neck and pull him into an open-mouthed kiss. Teeth scraping Cas’s lip, their tongues moving together, Dean poured everything he couldn’t say, wouldn’t say, into Cas. When the kiss ended he breathlessly pressed his forehead to Cas’s, fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, his eyes closed. He nodded again.

“Deal.” 

He stood and crossed the room again, opened the door and stepped out, one hand on the handle as he looked back inside. “‘Night, Castiel.”

The door shut with a resounding click and Dean’s footsteps disappeared along with the other sounds his echo chamber of a hall carried, and Cas scrubbed both hands down his face, letting out a deep sigh.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long everyone! We haven't written much lately and we're SO CLOSE to what was supposed to be this entire chapter, but unfortunately in the middle of a scene that's taking awhile...so I figured a little bit to hold you all over is better than nothing! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Castiel sipped at his coffee and stared out the window. The cafe was quiet, which was expected for this time of day. Aside from himself, the only other customer was what appeared to be a college student, complete with laptop and headphones. Across the street was Dean’s office that Cas had been staring at for a good 30 minutes. His appointment was approaching and he found himself quite anxious about it. He had no idea how Dean was going to act. As a matter of fact, Castiel had no idea how  _ he _ was going to act. 

When he couldn’t delay any longer, Cas sighed and asked for a coffee to-go. With a fresh cup in hand, he crossed the street and let himself inside the homey office space. Bella greeted him with a smile and he nodded, taking a seat on the couch. He disregarded the magazines on the coffee table, too revved up to even pretend to read. 

Time passed as Castiel stared blankly at the floor zoning out, coffee clutched in his hands, until he heard a faint clearing of the throat. He looked up to see Dean watching him and Bella gone. He blinked and stood, silently following Dean into his office. Dean gingerly lowered himself into his chair and Castiel sat in the one opposite him. So they were forgoing the desk today.

Interesting.

“Where did Bella go?” Cas asked curiously, mostly just to break the awkward silence between them.

“I let her go early,” Dean shrugged, then shifted in his chair with a grimace. “You’re my last for the day and she had a date, apparently.”

“Single?” Cas raised a brow. “I’m surprised. She’s beautiful.”

Dean grinned briefly. “But lethal. Tends to scare men off more often than not. Kinda why I hired her. I don’t have to worry about patients flirting with her.”

“I imagine that keeps you off her as well,” Cas said cheekily.

Dean snorted a laugh and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, no shit. ‘Course I’m professional too, so…”

“Of course,” Cas said smoothly, proud of his neutral tone.

“So tell me about your week, Cas,” Dean said, tapping his pen against his pad. His face didn’t betray anything but his voice was off...a little too high, a little too friendly.

“Seriously?”

“It’s what we’re here for.”

Cas laughed, a soft chuckle that grew into incredulous amusement. “We’re really not gonna talk about it.”

“Cas,” Dean closed his eyes and pressed his lips together, sighing. “I told you I need to keep this separate from my personal life. It’s important that I remain as objective as possible while acting as your  _ therapist  _ during _ your _ therapy.”

“Well, see, that’s the problem, doc,” Cas said snidely, leaning forward in his chair. “It’s basically the only thing I have to talk to you about right now.”

“It’s all you want to talk about since your last appointment, days ago?”

Cas shrugged. “It’s the only part I would call...let’s say, substantial.” 

“Right,” Dean said, cutting his eyes up at him, tapping his pen faster. “Well...then I’m gonna need you to change up some things. Details.”

“You want me to editorialize?”

Dean shrugged this time, smiling...but not the cocky grin Cas so desperately wanted to see from him. “I have an excellent imagination.”

“Something we have in common,” Cas murmured, relaxing back in his chair again. He drummed his fingers against his own knee, raising a brow at the green eyes trained so intently on him. He licked his lips; Dean’s eyes followed. “Okay, fine. So, um...I met someone a while ago. Someone I really like.”

Dean nodded, either writing or pretending to write on the pad in his lap; one leg was thrown over the other in such a way Cas couldn’t be sure.

“I like them a lot, actually. I’ve liked people a lot before. But this one feels a little different.”

More nodding, but silence.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why?”

Dean didn’t meet his eyes, writing. He tilted his head slightly, then finally asked, softly: “Why does this one feel different?”

“Well, they’re challenging. And you know already, I love a challenge. But more than that, they  _ match  _ me. I’ve never felt like there was a moment before where I couldn’t have had the upper hand had I explicitly wanted it at any time...but with this one, I think maybe...he could prevent it, if he wanted.”

Dean’s eyes flitted up, but his head didn’t move. Finally he swallowed, raising his head, and when he spoke his voice was low, on the verge of hoarse. “And does that...bother you?”

“That’s the thing, I thought it would,” Cas smiled subtly, straightening in his seat again, his full attention on Dean. “But I...I don’t know, the idea of it...it  _ excites  _ me. The concept that knowing going in, at any time, I  _ could  _ lose, if he really wants it. And that I would...that I’d love it. That for this one it doesn’t matter how, it seems. Which is...odd, for me. As you might imagine. I’m not quite sure how to feel about it. Guess it’s a good thing I have you to talk about it with.”

Dean scoffed.

“Anyway...I’ve been angling at him for weeks, and he finally had me believing it was never going to happen. Genuinely. I was beginning to worry I just didn’t have the same charm I used to, that I’d have to reign in the tension I was feeling and try to move on. And that really scared me because…” Cas trailed off, frowning as he thought very sincerely about what it was he wanted to say, “what if I couldn’t? I’ve never not gotten what I wanted before, and I’ve certainly  _ never  _ wanted anyone so badly.”

Dean looked down, pressing his pen to paper. “And why is that, do you think?”

“I could name reasons for the rest of this session, doctor,” Cas said, forgetting even to lace the “doctor” with sarcasm this time. Maybe it really was becoming a kink. “But I think there’s more than just a primal, sexual attraction there. I’m not sure what you’d call it...an interest, a fascination...he enthralls me in a way I’ve never experienced. He matches me, not only physically but intellectually, he submits without giving in, he makes me  _ laugh.”  _ Cas paused, his gaze falling as his forehead wrinkled in thought. “But his walls are built so high and he’s made it abundantly clear that I’m not to chip at them. Which, as I said, normally wouldn’t be a problem for me, but I guess you always want what you can’t have, huh? And, um, this one...he needs me.”

Dean stopped writing, but didn’t look up. The hard line of his shoulders was back.

“Perhaps I should clarify,” Cas said quickly, “he doesn’t  _ need  _ anyone. But whatever troubles him, whatever it is that brought him to me in the first place, I could help. If he’d let me.”

“Perhaps you should consider the idea that he doesn’t want your help,” Dean said calmly. “Not everyone wants you to fix them, Castiel.”

The way his full name rolled off Dean’s tongue always did something to him, and especially now, the hair on the back of his neck was standing with his goosebumps. 

“Well, fixin’ people is what we  _ both _ do,” Cas said, even unsure whether he meant the “we” objectively or as himself and Dean. “And shouldn’t that mean something? The fact that we both have what the other needs, exactly-”

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Dean said.

“But do you believe in two adults making conscious decisions which lead them to the very specific paths that set them down the same road together?” Cas countered, and Dean raised his gaze to him.

“I believe your decisions are yours and yours alone, and whoever you may happen to meet along your path become living experiences...or learning experiences, depending on the context.”

“Well.” Cas clicked his tongue. “A little over a month ago I might’ve been inclined to agree with you.”

“This person has changed your perspective that much?”

Cas tilted his head. “You said you don’t believe in coincidences. So, whether it’s fate or learning experience, you must believe that people meet for a reason.”

Dean shifted in his seat, pen tapping on his desk. “You could put it that way.”

“Then he and I met for a reason,” Cas said, leaning back and staring down Dean almost defiantly. He raised a challenging brow. “I intend to explore that reason.”

~*~

“He was at the party?”

Cas sighed and nodded, his gaze focused on his food instead of on the man sitting across from him. Balthazar hummed excitedly and leaned forward, eyes alight with intrigue.

“I must have seen him and didn’t even know it,” he smiled. Cas merely shrugged. “Why so glum? This changes everything! He wouldn’t have come to that party if he wasn’t curious.”

“It makes things vastly more complicated.” At Balthazar’s blank expression, Cas huffed and threw down his fork. “We fucked.”

An overly dramatic gasp and a delighted squeal came forth from the man, and Cas winced and sunk low in his seat. 

“Well there you have it!” Balthazar threw up his hands. “Problem solved. You fucked him. Out of your system now, yes?”

“Not even a little,” Cas bit back, scrubbing a hand over his face. “He’s like an infection. I can’t shake ‘em. I got a taste and want more. And Balth…” he shook his head, “he’s one of us. You should have seen it. A power Sub if I ever saw one. He practically  _ demanded _ that I hurt him. No matter how rough I got, it wasn’t enough. He wanted more.”

“Sounds perfect for you,” Balthazar shrugged.

Cas shook his head. “No, no, it was extremely unhealthy. There were no guidelines, no safewords, he even refused aftercare. I can’t imagine where his head is at.”

Balthazar stared at him. “Well how could you have let this happen?”

“It’s not like he gave me much  _ choice-” _

Balthazar’s face changed, darkened. “You know this...sounds like-”

“No, no!” Cas said quickly. “It was... _ very  _ much consensual. But we didn’t...discuss it beforehand. He just showed up at my apartment. And it was...understood. Why he was there. What would happen.”

“And how did he know where you lived in the first place?” Balthazar asked suggestively, raising a brow sharply. 

“Well he knew I lived at Westlight,” Cas said slowly, frowning.

“I think, Cassie, perhaps you’ve undersold this man’s mutual desire for you,” Balthazar rolled his eyes, crossing his arms as he sat back in his seat. “And you said you’ve seen him since this encounter?”

“Yeah,” Cas huffed a laugh, raising his eyes to the ceiling. “At  _ therapy.” _

“Dear god.”

“It was...enlightening.”

Balthazar snorted, shaking his head. “Well if this man has done nothing more than break you of your insufferable monotony, I will still remain eternally grateful.”

“Fuck you.”

Balthazar feigned a salacious gasp. “You  _ wouldn’t.” _

“We even had to dance around the real subjects all night,” Cas said, “which actually became...a bit of fun, to be honest. I don’t think he expected it to backfire so spectacularly. But he  _ did  _ say he had an excellent imagination.”

“I am ceaselessly impressed with the things you’ll do to appease your lascivious appetite.”

“Thank you. And he played along a bit too,” Cas continued without missing a beat, “once he realized I didn’t plan to let it stifle me. He’s very easy to fluster. He blushes, and the freckles, well, you know…”

Balthazar cupped his chin with a hand, elbow resting on the table. He nodded with a dopey smile. “Mhmm.”

“But I guess I just...I don’t know where we’ll go from here. I obviously want more, but he...he’s career-minded, which I respect, and he genuinely wants to help me, and I don’t want to be the one to distract him from this work I know he deems so important. Work that  _ is _ important, undoubtedly.”

“Sure, sure,” Balthazar nodded slowly, looking uncharacteristically thoughtful. “It is obviously important, but so is one’s social life. Desires, needs, emotions...these are things that shouldn’t be ignored.”

“That all seems pale in comparison to one’s career.”

Balthazar shrugged. “I disagree. True, career- if it’s the right one- can bring one a sense of accomplishment and happiness. But all those other things? Outside of work, that’s the other half of your life. Once he clocks out at the end of the day, he’s his own person. You can’t define yourself on your job alone.”

Castiel sighed. “What’s your point?”

“My point is you’re not a distraction,” Balthazar raised a brow. “You’re something he’s seeking out. You’re something he needs. He’s denying it, but clearly his resolve is cracking. If he came to see you once, he’ll do it again.”

“Bold of you to assume I won’t be the one going to  _ him  _ next time,” Cas grumbled.

“Good, then.”

“Says you.”

“Says anyone with half a functioning brain,” Balthazar sighed. “Look, you said yourself he wants to help you with your issues...which you and I both know you desperately need. It’s why I insisted you see this man in the first place. I didn’t plan for your therapist to be such a match for you but...you’ve got issues  _ he _ can help, he’s got issues  _ you  _ can help. You both need to pull your heads out of your asses.”

Cas gave an incredulous laugh, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Because it quite literally  _ is _ that simple, Cassie.”

Cas sat back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest, jaw set hard.

“God, your pouting is  _ insufferable.  _ Thank the gods for your dominance, because you would have been an intolerable submissive.” Balthazar quirked a smile, and Cas bit the inside of his cheek to keep from cracking his own, dammit.

Cas picked up his fork and pushed around some of his food, eyebrows drawn together in thought. “It’s become an issue...with scenes too.”

“Oh?”

“To a point,” Cas said slowly. “I...well. I’m usually fine. But the more I see him-”

“The more time he’s spending up there,” Balthazar finished for him, tapping a fingertip to his temple.

“Yeah.”

“Uh oh.”

“Yeah.” Cas closed his eyes, pressing a knuckle to the corner of one. “Which, largely, is quite helpful, but when I get too in my head, it’s just distracting. Anything, anyone, less than him is just...it’s not enough. Not anymore.”

“Mmm…” Balthazar took a sip of his drink. “That  _ is _ a problem. Distraction during a scene can lead to trouble. And if your other Subs are proving to be not enough then…”

“I know,” Cas pushed his plate away, food half-eaten. “I’m fucked.”

“Notice you’re always the one putting yourself in unfortunate situations such as these.”

“I’ve never been in a situation like this.”

“Yes, well, you’d be the one,” Balthazar said distractedly, swiping a thumb across his phone screen. “Listen, Cassie, are you coming to any sort of breakthrough anytime soon or shall we call it an evening? The circles you’re talking in are starting to make me dizzy.”

Cas rolled his eyes and stood, tossing his napkin to his plate. He pulled out his wallet and tossed a couple of bills on the table, clapping a chuckling Balthazar on the shoulder as he walked away.

“Thanks, Bal. Always so helpful.”

“Always just a phone call away, brother!”

~*~

Cas laid across his bed, phone in hand, staring at Dean’s name and number on his screen. The phone, message, and video icons. The modest “history”...all too little, for certain. He sighed and pressed the message icon, bringing up a blank text block and a blinking cursor. 

**Cas: _Perhaps you should consider the idea that not everyone wants to be fixed, and yet I’ve come to you. And I keep coming back to you._**

Just vague enough to not be considered inappropriate, Cas thought, and instead of dealing with the torturous waiting for a text that may or may not come, he tossed his phone to the bed and got up, making his way to the living room. He flopped down onto the couch, remote in hand, and started mindlessly flipping through the channels. 

He’s not sure how much time passed- could’ve been fifteen minutes, could’ve been an hour; really, there’s no telling when you don’t have a phone constantly attached to you- before he heard a knock at his door. His confused frown was only momentary, and somehow, before he stood, before his brain even registered getting up and walking across that room to the door, he knew who was behind it.


End file.
